Story Time
by himawarixxsandz
Summary: It's just another story.
1. The Beginning

Chapter One: The Beginning

Rain. It was what I'd associate with the start of it all. Well, not the start of my journey, but ours. My journey's beginning would forever be filled with snow and ice. Ours, however, began with rain. Rain and the adrenaline and exhilaration of knowing what was about to commence, one way or the other. The unfamiliar sights and scents and sounds; seeing the other for the first time, and not having any idea what was about to become of us. Only being able to hope for an ending.

I supposed, someday, we'd have to thank the Dimensional Witch. I didn't know how. But someday, we would have to find a way. It wouldn't be easy, but there were innumerable ways to do it, though none of them would be enough. How were you supposed to thank someone sufficiently when they were the cause of your entire life? All the happiness and the reason you want to go on living?

You see our dilemma.

Anyway, continuing the story. It was raining, and my face was in a calm smile—serene and composed. I probably looked as though I was pleased to be there, standing a world that was not my own and having no way of moving to any other. At the least, I looked very different from the desperation of Syaoran, holding his Princess Sakura—asleep and unaware of the danger she was in. My expression definitely looked nothing like his. The ninja standing only a few feet beside me—Kurogane.

I laugh. Why are you all squealing? Don't tell me this is all you came for? Hearing me talk and tease and torture your favorite ninja?

I won't admit it isn't deathly fun to do such, but wouldn't you rather hear the whole of it first? I thought so. All right, then.

Calm down. I can't hear that many questions all at once. All of you want to know what I first thought of him? Handsome? Dark? What did you say? Hot? _Sexy_? I smile. What are they letting young ladies read these days? All in good time, I'll get to it.

If I had to say my first impression…I know it isn't as "love at first sight" as any of you might will it to be, but I rather thought he was a spoiled, determined, ignorant little child. My face breaks into a smile yet again. Put down the pitchforks and the torches. Not all epic love stories begin that way, you do know. Ours is epic, I agree, but it didn't start that way.

I wouldn't know what he thought of me at first. I would ask him, but he's outside. Perhaps when he returns, I could, but you'd all have to make yourselves scarce if he's in a foul mood. Why? Oh, no, of course not because he'd hurt you. In a foul mood, Kuro-tan tends to do other things.

To me.

And your parents would most likely rather you not see that.

Excuse me? "Screw them"? I smile. You should be thankful instead of indignant. It means that they care about you. It could be different. They could rather you jump off a stone tower headfirst to your plunging death. But I digress—that would be getting ahead of myself.

Look at this. We're already verging off the story. Okay. Now, Kuro-sama was giving his sword to the Witch. That was the first time I began scrutinizing him. Why was he so attached to one item? Not that I wasn't to my tattoo, but he actually seemed to consider remaining in a foreign world rather than giving up that one sword. It was only a sword—even magic-induced ones could be replaced with the right amount of money.

Of course, now I know why he didn't want to give it up, but you must imagine my confusion back then. Such adamancy, so willful. Two things of many that I still haven't got.

I tilt my head in confusion as all of you rush towards me, arms open, most of you going, "Awww…." It's nice that you like to embrace men you don't know very well…

Our first sighting of each other was brief, for as you know, we were sucked into Mokona's cavernous mouth not long after—already being whisked away into our first world.


	2. The Hanshin Republic

Chapter Two: The Hanshin Republic

Ah, yes. The Hanshin Republic, the very first of the many worlds we went to. I think even then, even at that early time, he already knew how false my smiles were. I don't know. He might have. His gaze was so unrelenting that I could never be sure. Then again, I was never sure of anything.

It was when I first really met Syaoran, that I knew, even though this boy—this being—didn't have a heart, even though he was man-made, I would still love him. His will was fire. It wasn't like or symbolized like fire, it simply was. It would persist until his promise was kept, until his princess was saved. I hadn't meant to want to help him. He just…he was so honest and determined.

And then his princess. Sakura. Even though she had no heart of her own either, she was even harder to not love. How couldn't you love someone so pure and earnest? So involuntarily sweet and kind? She hadn't had any of her memories at all, and yet she was so trusting. So vulnerable. But her vulnerability was what rendered you incapable of taking advantage of her. It was too innocent to defile and harm.

The men with the Kudan were living proof of that.

But the Hanshin Republic was one our more fortunate worlds—the people there were kind and not at war. They were peaceful and helpful. But it struck me as odd what I received for a Kudan and what Kuro-tan received. Mine was a bird and his was a dragon. A bird can be caged, can fly away, can change masters and flit about. A dragon is his own soul, his own being.

At the time, it was all too clear to me what it meant. And yet, I still fell into a light comradeship with him—when we both looked out and saw Syaoran in the rain, the crying sky most likely hiding his own tears, and sent out our Kudan to shield him. It takes strength to cry, as I'd told Kurogane. But it takes an equal amount of strength to find reason to stop those tears, as he'd told me in return.

You could say that that single, tiny, little moment was when we'd first…started. Our entire relationship could be signified from that one exchange of words. Although there were so many more following that.

But already, his crimson eyes—the color of fresh drawn blood—were following me.


	3. Koryo

Chapter Three: Koryo

Koryo. Our second world, and when he first had reason to suspect me. Suspect me of what, exactly, I didn't know. But it was also the first time he saved me. And even though he's done so too many times to count, I remember every single one of them with such biting detail. I don't know why, but I find it somehow amusing when all of you make that, "Awww…" sound.

This world was sort of a shock after the almost too-easy manner of the Hanshin Republic. In this world, there was rebellion and tyranny. We had to actually work and fight and think to find the feather, and our lives were endangered more than once. It was only in the heat of the moment—the heat of battle—that I unwisely told Kuro-sama about Ashura.

The teasing began in Hanshin, but it was in this one where we were put together. Syaoran was worrying over Sakura and Chu'nyan was guiding them, becoming friends with them. Kuro-tan and I were left alone.

"Is it even safe to let those three go off alone?" He crossed his tan, muscled arms and scowled at me. "The kid can handle about half of one of those goons."

"Kuro-chi believes in Syaoran-kun. How sweet." I smiled at him and leaned in close—close enough to smell the slight saltiness of his perspiration. It was a warm scent, not in anyway unpleasant. I have to hold up my hands to quiet the little squeaks being emitted from some of you. If you make sounds of his caliber right now, what will you do when I get to the part in Ya—

My God. I'm partially expecting you to all go into some sort of seizure, as you are all now looking at me with large…overeager eyes. Are you sure young girls are supposed to be hearing things such as this? Two men together? Is that really—

Yes, yes, I'll go on with the story.

Kurogane scowled down at me. "My name is Kuro_gane_. And I'm not sayin' the kid can't fight. He ain't half bad—pretty decent. But not against those bastards, and not untrained."

"Then you should train him," I said, ruffling his hair. He slapped my hand away, frowning comically.

"It's none of my business." And he went on scowling at the wall.

As most of you think, Kuro-rinta is the sort of person who's so good-looking that whether he's scowling, smirking, smiling, laughing, angry or any other sort of expression, he's still extremely—

I smile. All of you interrupt me with such…creative adjectives. But yes, any of those would do. The only—absolute only—time I don't like his appearance…is when it's resigned, when he looks like he's given up; because a will as strong as Kuro-sama's should never be doused with cold disappointment. Even though I'm the one who did.

My smile fades a bit. I hate to make such wonderful young girls wear expressions such as those on their faces. It's too cruel. But worry not, rainbows only come with rain.

But for the next few worlds, never was there doubt on Kurogane's face; although plenty of doubt, plenty of misgivings, and sadness went through mine—even if not visibly.

And during the fight with Kiishim was when it let slip. Ashura. Not exactly his name, but the fact that there was someone out there after me, and the reason I was running, the reason I was even on this journey—

He now knew. And I couldn't have that. A part of me was hoping—wishing and wanting—that he would be killed by those acid bubbles. But an even greater part of me wished that he wouldn't and somehow _knew_ that he wouldn't. Nothing could send Kurogane into the eternal sleep. Even though I was a person who'd learned to never trust in anything or anyone, that was the one thing I'd already knew for sure. Kurogane was infallible and indestructible.

And then he _saved me_. He pushed me out of the aim that would have killed me—disintegrated me into nothingness. It was true, he mightily bruised my stomach, but as I've learned, you have to hurt to help. I just didn't know it at the time.

For a split second, it felt like someone cared. Like he cared. But then, I quickly dismissed it as a fluke. Of course he cared. Kurogane was just that sort of person. He was a ninja, wasn't he? Of course he wouldn't allow one of his allies to be killed before him. That was all I was good for, anyway. An ally. A partner in battle. There would be more of a chance of him returning to his country if he had someone to help fight his battles.

But wasn't that always my greatest mistake? Dismissing everything Kuro-rin had done for me as something else. Because no one could ever truly care if hell happened to me. Because I didn't deserve that.


	4. Jade

Chapter Four: Jade

I don't know why. But this was one of my favorite worlds. Perhaps it was the frigid weather—the almost welcoming cold and snow. Not all of my recollections associated with the cold were pleasant, but some were, and I'm sure all of you have experienced homesickness one time or another.

And it was the manner of dress that was similar to my home as well. But then, what really is home? It was only recently that I found how home is anywhere you want to be the most—where you feel a sense of comfort and safety. Which, of course, means that I have no stationary home. My home is Kurogane's heart.

Again with the screaming—what? You have a special verb for what you do? Fangirling, is it?

Syaoran was exemplary in this world. With only limited clues, he was able to solve a mystery and arrange things to reveal the innocence of the scapegoat and the guilt of a traitor.

Not that Sakura wasn't also indescribable. She managed to escape from the room she was held prisoner and through her abilities communicate with the late Princess's spirit. It was because of her we learned the legend and story—the true one.

But the significance this world held for Kuro-tan and I had solely nothing to do with the legend and mystery-solving. We were in the alone, like always, at night. I was leaning in the doorway of his room and neither of us were aware that only a few doors down, Sakura was watching a beautiful ghost with locks of gold walk down the street—children sleep-walking at her heels.

"Warm welcome they gave us," he growled, flapping out the thick comforter angrily.

"You can't expect anything more of them," I said reasonably. "They've been deprived of their children. It's natural that they're irritable. At the least, they aren't always so moody, unlike Kuro-puu."

"Say that again, mage, and I swear—"

"Language, Kuro-chan." I smiled.

He snorted and began unbuttoning the long, dark coat that was given to him by the overeager tailor. My breath caught slightly. I didn't know why—it wasn't as though he'd never undressed before me. But there was something keeping me from breathing properly as he slid his sinewy arms—brown from being kissed by the sun—out of the sleeves, and yanked the shirt over his head, ruffling his dark hair just the slightest bit.

"You gonna change at all, or sleep like that?" He raised a bemused eyebrow. "Hell, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Who knows," I smiled. "Maybe I will."

"I'm already damn tired, mage. Your face like that is making it worse." He stretched his long arms and turned his back on me. "Get some sleep."

My eyes were hooded as I let the smile slip and walked slowly to an empty bedroom. There was a mirror against the dresser and as I passed by it, I could only agree with him. My face sickened me as well. But even then, I couldn't help but smile. I didn't even know why.

This world went smoothly after the mystery was solved, and even though the drop-hint of a possible stalker existing to us shocked Syaoran, Sakura and Kurogane, I was—of course—no less than expecting it. But as was my custom, I painted on a genuine expression of surprise and concern.

The only thing that bothered me was that the concern didn't really need to be enforced onto my face.


	5. Oto

Chapter Five: Oto

The country of the cherry blossoms—the country of Sakura. Amongst the worlds we visited, this one stands out alone. For obvious reasons, but one of them—I should straighten out—is not at all for the reason that some of you might think. I didn't single this world out in my mind because I "died"; in truth, I had a great suspicion from the very start that the world was virtual since the memory erasing technology they used was nothing compared to the magical methods of erasing one's memory—and that aside, my suspicions usually turned out to be fact.

No. The reason it stood out alone is…well, I suppress a smile. I think I'll keep it to myself until it comes up in the story. Nothing's worse in a good storytelling than spoilers, isn't that right?

The suppression I'm trying to enforce into my smile is waning rapidly, as all of you are pleading to me to tell why this world is so important. My smile turns into a broad grin. Patience is a virtue, and you'll all find out soon enough. It's one of the memories I hold most dear—as I haven't had many good ones—and I'd like to give it the revelation it's due. At that, all of you immediately quiet. My, it seems like—just as Kuro-tan can't—none of you can refuse me when I use such a soft voice. I should do that more often.

Oto had strange effects on all of us. For Syaoran and Sakura, it served both a reminder and a comfort—a reminder of the price that was paid and the reason they were on this journey, and yet a comfort that there would always be a chance for a new beginning in the future. I didn't have the heart to think about how even their future wasn't their own.

For Kurogane and I… it only served to strengthen the bond that was already inevitably tightening and hardening rock solid—a bond that was becoming less like a cord and more like a steel bar by the passing moments, by each passing gaze and touch.

And here…here in this world was where I made one of my biggest mistakes yet. It was in this world that I let more of my emotions—my wishes—out to him than was neither safe nor promising for either of us. But mostly him.

Yet, it was in this world he saved me again. Saved me and then told me how he hated me, yes, but saved me nonetheless. And even though a small part of me broke when he said those words, "Your kind are the kind that I hate most" another part stubbornly clung to the fact that he hadn't actually said he hated _me_. A foolish idea, but I was an excellent self-deceiver.

I raise my eyebrows as all of you rush up to hug me once again, touching my hair—with all-too happy eyes and grins—and telling me that if Kuro-chan ever said that to me and meant it you'd all push him down the stairs. That does so bring up an entertaining image.

But after he saved me and those harsh words, I still had the gall to tell him how I would never be able to up and leave on my own. I was so useless, that the only way for me to go where I wished was if someone brought me along—a burden.

I didn't know if I was imagining it, but it looked…it might've looked like his eyes—rather than criticizing and disapproving—seemed as though they were filled with a longing; maybe…even a longing to be that someone that brought me along…

Again, such adorable voices. I have heard Sakura make that sound before…when she caught Kurogane and I in the broom cupboard, and—

I cough. All right, then. Continuing.

You all beg me to put the story to a pause and go on with what I was previously saying—about Sakura and the broom cupboard. I smirk and shake my head. It's not for young ears. The screaming and pleading intensifies and there's a rough shout from outside. Shut the hell up, the voice demands. I'm trying to train, it goes on. See? Now you've made him angry. And for some reason, that seems to delight all of you.

Anyway.

That night Kuro-tan had to carry all of us to bed—Syaoran, Sakura, and Mokona he could bring in one trip, but I had to be dragged separately, as you can imagine my resistance. I was simultaneously climbing over him and slipping from beneath him and also clawing at his back. Although he was no better, yelling like hell was dragging him down. I thought he would wake the others and have to start all over again.

Of course, I wasn't honestly drunk. I could hold more liquor than Kuro-rin. But I had to do something to distract him from what'd just occurred earlier—and I would go to any length to do that.

He dumped me on the bed and glared at me. "Are you gonna sleep in your clothes, idiot? The kids at least were somewhat able to change. God help me if the princess hadn't been able to."

I laughed and sat up, looking up at him from beneath the veil of my blond bangs. "Of course I am, Kuro-kun. Silly, did you think I'm that drunk? Besides…you must be tired. Go to bed. Don't let the bed bugs bite!" I waved him off with a smile.

His feet remained firmly planted as though he was deciding to guard me through the entire night. The scowl didn't move either. "If you want me to leave, I will. But I just want to make sure you aren't gonna attack me in my sleep or anything. I'm staying until you fall asleep."

"But Kuro-puppy's a ninja, isn't he? He should be able to guard himself against attacks on the sly like that. Hmm, should I give it a try?" I tilt my head at him with an arched eyebrow.

"Just change, mage."

I sighed and stood up, the smile never leaving my face. I purposely went as slow as I could—opening the closet, staring at my clothes, reaching out hesitantly to pull out something suitable to sleep in. He never said a word to hurry up or complain all the while. There was nothing but our breathing—and my heartbeat.

The room was already dim, and I hadn't bothered to flick on the lights—they'd be turned off again anyway.

Another interruption? Ah, from the looks on your faces, I can surmise that you know what's coming up? Well, just a little bit longer.

I pull out a pair of cotton pants—"sweat pants" Syaoran had told me they were supposed to be called. I regarded them as I said to the surly ninja behind me—without a glance, "You can go to sleep if you want. I think you've made it clear that you know I'm not drunk."

"Who said I figured it out? I didn't." Kurogane crossed his arms.

I turned around with a slightly smaller smile. "Yes, since it wasn't obvious at all. But really, Kuro-tan. Go ahead to sleep. I'll be fine."

"Why do you want me to leave so badly?" he snorted.

"It isn't fair for me to keep you in a room with the person you hate," I smiled brightly as I shed my clothes and pulled on nothing but the "sweat pants" in exchange. It wasn't a cool night.

He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward me, red eyes glinting in the sliver of moonlight streaming in through the window. "What's with the assumptions? I don't recall ever sayin' that."

"Your memory must be dysfunctional. You said it only hours ago, remember? I could probably quote you word for word, too." I walked back to the side of the bed and took a seat, staring up at him vaguely.

His eyebrows went up ever so slightly in realization, but he shook his head once and stared out the window, expression aloft. "No. I said nothing about hating you. Although I do remember sayin' something 'bout hating people like you."

I was trying to breathe, but it kept getting lodged somewhere mid-esophagus. I finally exhaled quickly, and then pushed myself into a standing position and my lips on his in one quick, fluid move. They were warm and the sweet edge of alcohol had lingered. There was no tongue, no passionate embrace. My fingers were simply on the edge of his jaw and my lips pressed onto his, and then it was over. My eyes were steady and no smile was there on those lips—neither mine nor his. "Now do you hate me?"

His eyes were even surer as they narrowed slowly. He bent down until his face was centimeters from mine, our forehead almost touching. And then, swiftly, his lips were on mine—he made the move this time—and his large familiar hand brushed against the side of my throat. "Guess."

As he left the room—and left me with a pure look of confusion—he didn't once look back.

I'm tempted to excuse myself and quickly grab a pair of earplugs while the shocked silence is still reigning. I know that the squeals and scream and shrieks and "fangirling" will be deafening.

And as you all come to your senses, it is most indeed deafening. I open my mouth to continue—as there is plenty more to this world—but the screaming envelops my attempt and I'm stuck waiting until it calms.

All right, it's been over five minutes, this is really getting—

"What the HELL is going on? It sounds like hell's being burned alive!" He stomps in here, his sword in one hand, his hair in slight tangles, and his tan face is flushed with the heat of having just returned from his midmorning exercises. None of your eyes even glance at the steel arm and where it connects with the flesh—all of them are staring at his taut chest, exposed and bare and glistening with beads of perspiration, and how his sash just barely holds the hakama from simply falling off of his body.

I raise an eyebrow at him and tip my head to the side, gesturing at all of you. He frowns, but he doesn't scowl. "Who're they?"

They're here to here a story, Kurogane. His frown deepens. "What story? And why do they have to here it from you?"

Is there a reason otherwise to deprive lovely young ladies a story? And who better to tell the story than the one whose story it is?

His frown deepens further—if that is possible. "They look like they want to eat you. I don't like it."

I smile. And why is that? Because you don't feel like sharing? You've never been what most people would call generous.

"Shut up," he growls, and you giggle. Now, Kuro-tan scowls and turns to you, jabbing a finger in your direction. "Touch him, and I send you to hell where you belong." The smiles never leave your faces. You know he would never honestly do that. He harrumphs and then stomps back outside to continue his exercises.

You can see why it's better to leave him be until he's calmed. You giggle even more, having to hide the grins behind your fists. I can't help but laugh slightly along. How am I ever going to finish? The story gets more and more serious, but you all make me lighter and giddier.

Now, afterward, I'm sure you all know that I "died". I woke up in that chamber and saw the sleeping forms of my companions—all in their own chambers and completely unaware that they were trapped in a virtual reality. I couldn't wake them.

And neither could I help, when the virtual world finally came crashing into smithereens, and Kurogane was fighting Seishiro—fighting a vendetta. For my own death.

I couldn't believe my own eyes—or my ears—at first. Why—why was he fighting for me? Even when he thought I was dead? Vengeance? But why for me? How was I worth that? I didn't know if he hated me or liked me, but I was sure either way, if he thought I was worthy of effort of that caliber…

Then it obviously meant I was getting to close. Too attached. And one way or the other, it would have to end—because if I didn't end it, then it would end itself. And that would just hurt him more.


	6. Yama

Chapter Six: Yama

There is no more squealing, however, there's plenty of muted shrieks. For the first time, you're all actually attempting to quiet yourselves as you want nothing more than to hear of our escapades in this world—in these six months—but you can't. Some of you think we became rather like sexual deviants, what with not being able to talk and sharing a tent.

What happened was rather different, really. You all know about our small exchange of words directly before we were transported—how Kurogane was getting closer and closer to my past, and how I was (pathetically) pushing him back with everything I could; which wasn't very much, apparently.

We didn't land in a forest, and the soldiers didn't find us. No, we landed smack dab in the middle of their camp. And even though Kurogane wasted a few seconds shouting in his own language at the soldiers, I learned swiftly and silenced myself—knowing that my language wouldn't have a single relation to theirs, but Kurogane's had the same edge to it.

Had it not been for Yasha's timely arrival and intervention, Kurogane and I probably would have had to massacre the entire camp to keep our lives. Not only that, but the appearance of our enemy, this "Ashura" put me into immediate relief. It wasn't my Ashura. I was safe from Kurogane's enquiries.

They were in need of troops—we were fitted for uniforms and given a tent in the farther parts of the camp; where the higher ranks were—the generals and majors and other officers. My assumption was that Yasha suspected us as much as the other soldiers. If we were amongst the high-ranking officers, we'd be put down quickly if there were any sign of espionage.

I never did understand what Kurogane spoke to me during those six months. But I could always hazard a guess.

The first month was filled with frustration. He couldn't speak to me, and I couldn't speak at all in front of the others. We couldn't understand each other. I learned the significance of certain words of his language, but never could I speak it fluently. However, where we lacked in translations, we more than made up in battle.

We made an unstoppable pair, he and I. The old as time pairing of the archer and the swordsman; it was Ashura who put the idea into Kurogane's head, and of course, once an idea was planted in that mind, nothing could uproot it.

And that aside, I could never miss my target. Never. Even if I wanted to. It would hit dead on, and that person would be finished. Kurogane would hack away at the ones who were sneaking for me, as I practically wiped out half the opposing forces before we could even see their shapes clearly.

It was quick. From the most suspected, we became the most trusted—the indispensable right hand men of Yasha. Without our consent, he wouldn't act. Even though I never quite understood the strategy, the gist of it was forever clear.

The second month was when the change was finally realized. Our eyes were black. They'd darkened with each passing day—bit by bit. We realized this was also probably why they'd trusted us more. It was strange. I awoke one day and simply went to the baths and my reflection was there against the steamy, but clear waters. Eyes as dark as onyx—odd against my pale skin.

I swallowed as I stared at my reflection. It was unnerving. I only had but to look around to assure that no one thought this was strange at all—it wasn't hard to meet a soldier's eyes if you were I. Ever since they'd thought us safe to approach and befriend, the throngs gathered in the baths. Everyone hurried with their duties just to be in time to bathe simultaneously with myself.

I really honestly didn't know what I thought of that.

But apparently you do, as you're all grinning as though your wildest fantasies have just come true. Which, they might have.

At first, it was disturbing. Imagine feeling a minimum of ten pairs of eyes latched onto your naked body as you are bathing—the eyes of one of your same gender, too. And some were not as honorable, the eyes didn't simply latch, they caressed and canvassed. Even when it wasn't in the baths, a few undressed me with their eyes. It was all too clear what they'd do if they had their way—if they weren't frightened to death of me.

The third month was where the memories flooded in. Thousands of them—Kurogane and I in each one. Some were amusing, some were entertaining, although plenty more were disappointing and sorrowful.

I have plenty of them, but only two will I share with you. You all pout brilliantly and demand that I tell you each one, but I shake my head. After a while, they'll bore you, even though all of you are saying that you will never tire of hearing about us. Well, then if not that, I'd very much like to keep the rest to myself. These are private, after all.

You quiet obediently after that and look at me eagerly to continue.

I was getting slightly hysterical with the monotony. I didn't know what would happen if Mokona never showed up. What would become of me? Would I live forever in this strange world and time? It'd been three months already. This panic showed in my focus during battle. For the first time, I missed my target, and that strengthened my already thick frustration.

The night after that battle, I went outside late to train. There were straw dummies for targets—the sort that had a target over the forehead, heart and groin. My quiver was filled to bursting, strapped onto my back, and the cool wind rustled my hair.

I didn't know how long I trained—long enough until I had run out of all my arrows and had to retrieve some in order to continue—but I knew how hard I trained. I trained with an intensity that dampened my hair to the base of my neck and my forehead; until the wind actually felt freezing to my heated body; until the heat flushed into my cheeks felt like fire beneath my skin.

My breathing was uneven and harsh, cutting out of my mouth and up my throat. But I kept on aiming. It was like a sort of release for me. Not just what Yama had pent up, but everything. Everything from beginning to present. Most of it, surprisingly, to do with Kurogane and very little with Ashura.

As I lifted the bow—quite shakily—set and strung with the next arrow, I felt someone's chest against my back and his scent, more familiar than my own face, assailed me. Every world we came to, his warm scent slight scent of muskiness regained a new feature. In Yama, it was earth and a mix of other scents from the soldiers—a human sort of smell.

Large hands wrapped over my own shaking ones with surety. They halted the trembling and steadied my aim—I'd missed more than I'd hit due to my resigned recklessness. He murmured something in his own language, but I was definite that I heard my name tacked to the end softly. "Fai," he finished. His breath blew gently against my dampened hair, airing it against the back of my throat.

He then started speaking with even pauses between each syllable and I knew he had to be counting. The last number had a more resound pause to it, and with him, I released the bowstring and the arrow flew straight at the bull's eye.

I let my arms fall to my sides, my bow hanging against my thigh. His hands didn't remove themselves from mine, and he stayed standing behind me. He said something again, a concerned edge entwined with it. My eyes flew open to their widest as I felt his fingers reach to touch my hot cheek. I spun around and stared at him.

His eyes took me in steadily—taking the overheated flush of my face, the wetted hair, and the frantic look in stride. He could see that this world was undoing me, and although he could've taken advantage of that right at this moment, all he did was take one of my hands, still in his, and held it up to level with our gazes. He didn't say anything, but his fingers brushed accusingly over the many cuts and slits—some bleeding, some starting to heal.

The other archers wore gloves, but I didn't see the need. I'd heal, and I felt better aim and more connection with the weapon without them.

Kurogane's frown wasn't disapproving…it was…sad…? He sighed and his head moved upward toward my face again…but it stopped a few inches short. It was as though he was hesitating, unsure of whether it was safe to touch me or not. His eyes were questioning, asking permission.

I couldn't refuse him. He was the very first after Ashura who'd ever cared about if I wanted it or not. The other royals and nobles had all done their way with me, uncaring how far I wanted to go and if I was in pain or not. As soon as they'd found how Ashura had been my first, I was suddenly on the market for auction.

And even Ashura…I'd kept that all from him, and even when it was obvious there was something paining me, he'd not even asked.

But Kurogane interfered and intervened even when I didn't want to. Even when he thought I was dead he was still fighting for me. And now…when I couldn't understand him—or anyone—when I was at my most vulnerable…he was still trying to do his best to communicate. To ask me, is this what I wanted? Was he allowed to touch me there? Was I all right? Did he go too far?

I could've cried.

I bowed my head once in admission. The lids of his eyes lowered as he placed his hand carefully against my cheek—the hesitance still reigning. The touch was so gentle it was hardly a caress; it was just reassuring, and completely unbelievable. But for some reason, although this was the farthest thing from Kurogane's character, I didn't have to remind myself that this was him. It simply suddenly seemed that his harsh protectiveness and this gentleness just went hand-in-hand.

All of you are staring at me with huge eyes, but none of you can find your voices. A few of you manage to clear your throats and urge me to continue on. Some of you even have tears.

Kurogane said something softly and gestured his head back toward the general direction of where our tent was. He let go of my face and made as if to return, his eyes querying yet again. It wasn't like always, when he usually simply leaves or drags me with him. He was asking. And he was giving me the choice to remain.

My mind told me that it'd be smarter to stay until he was asleep. I would get closer to him, and I was already in dangerous waters as it was. But it was my heart that took control of my body—and all it sang was one word—one name: Kurogane.

I walked toward him, and his hand casually slipped into mine as we strolled. My weapons lay forgotten behind us. His fingers entwined themselves through mine. There was nothing but silence, but it was the sweetest silence, as we made our way back to the tent.

The second memory was much later. Three months filled in the space between these two that I'm sharing with you. Those three months were more of the same—Kurogane in everything I did, seeping into all the cracks that'd fissured into my heart and my mind and cementing them solid.

We walked through the forest at night. We trained together during the day. We kissed by candlelight in our tent. He showed me the art of his language—kanji. I'd annoy him and irritate him and he'd threaten to kill me, but somehow we'd always end up collapsed, entangled with each other and solemn. We touched in the baths. He spread ointment onto my cut hands and presented me with gloves so light and thin, yet so durable, that my hands were never cut again. We lay on the grass of the clearings, gazing at the stars. We clasped hands before each battle, knowing that neither of us would be killed, for there was too much to lose.

And then, it was the sixth month.

I no longer cared if Mokona was reappearing with the children or not. It seemed as though I'd give anything if I could remain here with Kurogane forever. Even if I didn't understand the language, even if Ashura would eventually wake and find me. For now, I was shut out from it all, and it was like one huge lie—the greatest, most wonderful lie in the world. I most likely would've had the language within grasp had I actually tried to learn it, but I didn't. I wanted ignorant bliss and Kurogane. And I had both for the time being.

But what happened next I was unprepared for.

I told you both these memories were happy, but…that wasn't completely true, I suppose now that I think of it. This one was…memorable, but not all joyous.

It was an accident. No premeditation. It just happened.

We were in the forest, the area where the trees were sparser with thicker trunks—close to the beginning of the clearing. I was leaning against a tree, and his head was in my lap, one of his legs propped up. My hand was idly stroking through his hair.

The sky was inky and dark and not a single star shone through, but the full moon—silver and luminous—was more than enough to make up. Moonlight cut onto his face, lighting his eyes eerily. At the same time I leaned down, he pushed himself up, and as easily as breathing, our lips touched.

But I leaned further in, and he pushed himself further up, and now our lips were pressing against the other's. Somehow, he was no longer on my lap, but I was on his and I was kneeling. I pushed him against the tree and his hand slid beneath my thighs, grasping me to him with sudden desperation. During the few moments we stopped to breath, I met his eyes and the desire in them was so strong it intensified my own.

"Fai," he said simply. It wasn't in a moan or a gasp or soft or loud or anything. It was a statement. Simple as that.

The kisses, however, were far from it. They were complicated with everything we'd wanted to be able to say to each other during these months, entwined with the lies I told him, woven in with our pasts—the ones we couldn't rely to the other.

It was uncontrollable and unpreventable. His hands were already untying the cord of my pants and mine had already undone his. A corner of my mind warned me that this was going to be sex—not love. The rest of me could've cared less—both my body and heart had grown greedy during this time. I wanted some sort of symbolism for love, even if it was a crude one. I was desperate as he was.

There was no preparation. He was inside of me, thrusting in and out—and it hurt, of course. I was dry and internal pleasure was much harder to achieve for a man. During the act, I could pretend that he loved me—that when this time ended, our love wouldn't.

But then, as all things did, it ended, and I was disgusted. The high didn't last long, and once it did, I fastened my pants, tied the cord and struggled up. He was still leaning on the tree, calming his breathing. His hand wrapped around my wrist and commanded something. It only took one look at him to know that he wanted me to stay.

Something inside of me cracked.

I couldn't. Sex with Kurogane was so much more than just flesh and flesh. It was…even as crudely as it'd just been done, it was still so different—so much more wanted—than sex all those times I'd had and been forced to do before. There was something about it that my body wanted more of. Ashura and a number of those nobles had been far more skilled and had pleasured my body many times over Kurogane, but still, my body wanted him—not my mind or heart, but my body.

Not that my heart didn't yearn for him with a longing so strong it hurt.

I couldn't stay. I didn't just like him anymore.

I loved him. Even a blatant liar like myself couldn't overcome this one. It was too great, too clear, too obvious and too…I didn't know. It was just…it couldn't happen. I could fall out of love easily—I would make myself fall out—but Kurogane wouldn't. I knew he was the sort of person who'd have one love and one love for all eternity. Look at it this way, his princess had banished him to travel across worlds until he found whatever moral or commandment—or whatever it was—that she wanted him to, and he still would bow to nobody but her.

And that was just his princess. What did you think would happen if it were a lover?

And so, I yanked my hand from him, narrowed my eyes into an expression so cold he wouldn't even recognize me as the happy-go-lucky mage and spat, "Pervert."

I made sure to turn around quick enough so that I didn't see his expression. Even if he didn't understand me, my tone and face would assure that he knew exactly what I'd called him.

It was the very next day that we first saw Syaoran. And it was when we returned we found that we could speak to each other—and understand.

We were in the tent.

"So our days here our numbered, huh?" He was sharpening his sword, sitting on his pallet, and examining it in the candlelight.

"I suppose." I smiled, as I stared at the cloth ceiling of the tent, pretending to marvel at the stars seen-through the canvas. I wished with all my might that he wouldn't mention it. That he'd continue to do the same thing as last night and pretend it never happened.

"Someday I'm gonna give that Dimensional Bitch the shit she deserves," he said thoughtfully. "That stupid manjuu bun is dysfunctional. I can't believe it stranded us here for half a damn year."

I didn't respond. It was all I could do to keep myself from feeling as though I were scheduled for an execution. Any minute Kurogane could deliver the finishing blow.

"Hey." I turned at the call, smiling expectantly. He wasn't scowling, nor was he frowning. His face was even and he looked at me steadily. "I'm sorry, you know."

I was one with my pallet. I couldn't move an inch even if I wanted to.

"Excuse me?" I finally was able to speak. My voice felt overused—strange to my ears—even though it should've been a relief to at last be understood. I was staring at my knees. I couldn't look at this face, and when I had to, I'd hide behind a film of lies—no matter how flimsy they were.

"For yesterday night. Sorry."

I looked up, and his eyes were shockingly easy to meet. Neither criticizing nor scrutinizing, as they usually were. Like I'd said, this world was something that would forever be a secret. It was a shut away world and one of a kind—a past among pasts. Things would never be this open again, because the minute we left here, we left our experiences here, too. That was the only reason we could do these actions without thinking about their consequences.

"What do you mean?" I said lightly.

He got up off the bed and stood before me. "I'm trying to apologize, mage. Don't make this any harder. I'm sorry, you heard? The kids, the manjuu bun—they're all here. We're going home."

I understood perfectly. This was ending. Everything that had happened between us would soon no longer exist. It would be as if nothing ever happened. He was apologizing for ever starting it. A familiar face, a familiar voice—those were the only reasons he'd ever want to be with me. And now that we were reverting to our usual journey—it was over. Done.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Kuro-rin," I replied, squeaky happy, purely smiles and laughs. "It'll be good to see how Sakura and Syaoran fare, and to be onto the next world."

Kurogane sighed and curled one finger beneath my chin. "I really wish you wouldn't smile when you don't feel like it." He shook his head to himself briskly, and then withdrew. It took mere minutes for him to settle himself on his pallet and he was rock unconscious.

I, on the other hand, was still frozen—an ice sculpture that had nearly no chance at all of ever thawing out. It would take many a sleepless night to get this world out of my system, but I'd be damned. It was possible, and in half a week this world would never have even happened.


	7. Piffle

Chapter Seven: Piffle

As of right now, I'm trying to figure out what I have done that could've caused this. There isn't a single sound in the room—unless you account me talking, that is. I expected at least some shrieking, but apparently my predictions weren't very accurate. All of you are staring at me with the widest eyes. I didn't say anything to offend you, did I? Were the descriptions in Yama to graphic? I did tone it down as much as I could…

In a burst of young, female voices—almost as if you've rehearsed—you all shout "IDIOT" at me. Some of you add variations, such as "imbecile", "fool", "How can you think that", "you almost made me cry, damn it", and the list goes on.

Really. I should scold Kuro-tan for influencing you. Your parents won't be happy about this. I'm not saying you should feel sympathy for me, but there was nothing else I could've done in Yama. And no, I shouldn't have had sex with a soldier to make him jealous—I answer one of you.

Piffle…it was a peaceful world—exciting, too. Even if I did spend nearly all of those nights sleeplessly thinking about Yama. Apparently, it wasn't as simple as I thought it would be to force it from my mind. And more so my body and heart. Worse, Syaoran and Sakura—after our absence—had become quite independent, and were learning to depend on each other like the adorable couple they were.

Which meant, of course, that I was with Kuro-tan. All the time. Nonstop. And then, when this word's Tomoyo came, I didn't feel sadness or resignation or any other despairing feeling. No. Oddly enough…

I was indescribably, furiously, unreasonably jealous.

Neither Kuro-tan nor I had brought up the events of Yama since then. It was always there…sort of unspoken between us, but still very concrete and very real. When I closed my eyes at night, I could still smell the grass and trees blowing around us…his hands around mine, his scent filling my lungs…my fingers curled firmly and surely over the bow and arrow only because he was there to guide them…

But the memories and images had to go. No matter what I did, however, they wouldn't. They stuck so stubbornly I was losing sleep rather than gaining it. And whereas before, the nightmares were about Ashura and how everything had gone disastrously wrong…the nightmares were about Kurogane.

And they all ended with him leaving me—or dead.

Even a selfish idiot like me knew that I'd rather he leave and hate me and never speak to me again that die. I couldn't even have him hurt—emotionally or otherwise. I would do anything to keep him safe. I would stop short of nothing—not even my life.

My life was nothing compared to his—or Sakura's, Syaoran's, or Mokona's. It was like comparing the life of a beautiful, just queen to the life of an insignificant little aphid on the stone ledge of her castle.

Suddenly, all of you burst out angrily. You all protest with the greatest of forces that I am not insignificant, and how is my life nothing, and how would Kurogane ever live without me? I smile and put one finger up to hush you. I'm speaking in the past tense about all of this. I know now, of course, that I'm as valuable and treasured as any, but at that time, I thought I was worth less than the worms slithering beneath the earth.

Syaoran was supposed to be teaching Sakura how to fly, but I was pretty sure he was having as much fun watching her adorable little mishaps as she was having being taught by him. Such hesitant little touches and advances—the epitome of puppy love. And then of course, it got a little overhand when Mokona spiked the drinks and Kurogane had to haul them to bed. Again.

He didn't speak to or acknowledge me when he returned. It was because of how I'd refused him yet again when he'd asked about Ashura—something that Tomoyo's arrival had brought up. He simply gathered the alcohol and drinks, carried them to the kitchen, and went straight to his room.

I didn't know how long I sat there. It could have minutes or hours, or maybe even half the night. All I knew was that after I carried Mokona—who'd zonked out long ago—into Sakura's room, I went to mine and fell dead asleep, face down into the pillow.

Kuro-rin was kissing me, but our clothes were torn and when we withdrew from each other, there was a bloody imprint smeared onto my lips—the blood wasn't my own. I was holding Kurogane in my arms, and a gaping hole stared up at me where his stomach should've been. The blood no longer visibly spilled, but it was already a large puddle around us—my pants were soaked to the waist in it. His eyes were half-closed and his bloody hand was holding my face. He murmured soundlessly—his mouth shaping over those three forbidden words. Three syllables. Eight letters.

My face was wet. I wasn't crying, but it was damp with saltwater. There were no tears in my eyes, and my mouth was dry. Something heavy and warm rested on my shoulder—the heavy warmth spread to my head.

And I was suddenly looking—blearily—into eyes the color of the blood that'd just filled my mind only seconds ago. Thankfully, the face wasn't soaked in any of it, and no death approached those eyes. But his hand was indeed on the side of my face, thumb brushing away the unnoticed tears. My hand moved to the center of my pillow, and it was damp.

He didn't speak. During moments like these, he never did. I assumed it was the reflection of how he only comforted me because he wanted to silence me. As soon as we reached his country, he'd be done with me.

Gently, carefully, gingerly, he kissed me. His other hand found mine and threaded its fingers through my own. With gradual steadiness, he guided his tongue into my mouth—warm breath airing in. I touched the tip of my tongue with his…shyly, almost. Once we drew apart, he lifted our hands—fingers still intertwined—between the line of our connected gazes, as if trying to show me something, trying to make me understand.

It wasn't that I couldn't comprehend. It was just that I couldn't believe. I couldn't trust. I'd been broken so many times over—each worse than the last…all because I'd hoped. If I killed that hope, the disappointment wouldn't kill _me_.

So you could easily imagine the panic that rose when I saw him hold up our hands—my right, his left—as they were locked together in a gesture as simple and significant as any.

I couldn't exactly recall what my facial expression looked like during all that, but I could recall how quickly I disengaged myself and my hands, and practically threw myself away from him. His own expression was neither hurt nor angry as his hands fell only his lap—he'd been kneeling—and he stood up. There was only concern laced with sadness on his face, a slight furrowing of his black eyebrows, but otherwise, nothing else. The emotions were so simple and undefiled—pure and unadulterated…and much too sincere for a liar like me. I didn't deserve it. I couldn't accept it.

The only way I thought of returning what he'd done for me was the chance during the race. His hand was injured, and it was like some invisible force was whispering for my own limbs to take it. I covered my nervousness with a smile, as I cupped the large gloved hand in my own smaller ones. I sensed that it wasn't all that painful, but an infection could grow. There already seemed to be a scar in the palm—but I knew that that had always been there.

I couldn't even heal that small injury. I could only step aside and watch the doctor heal it. My magic could only destroy and disable—hurt and wound.

I was useless.

All of your eyes have that drooping edge to them as you regard me with sad sighs. Quite a number of you have your hands clamped over your hearts, some others over your mouths. I ask you why you all look so devastated, and there are variations of the same answer—I thought I was useless and worthless; how can you not be sad?

But keep in mind that the story has a happy ending, I tell you. Even though it will get sadder on—you immediately hold up boxes of tissues; my, you are prepared—the ending is well and good.

After Kyle's small reappearance in Piffle, we were on our way to the next world, and the tension between Kurogane and I mounted.

Along with how much I loved him.


	8. Intermission

Chapter Eight: Lecou--

(Intermission)

Keep in mind that I didn't know Kuro-kun's past when this world occurred. Only Syaoran opened that book, the rest of us were oblivious to the memories that were playing out in front of him—oblivious as he met the characters of a story not his own.

Speaking of stories, sometime, Kuro-chi really should tell you this story as he remembers it. He's a much better storyteller than I am, even if he doesn't have the patience for such things.

You gasp and assure me that of course no one is better at telling stories than I am, and then urge me to continue.

Mokona oddly—

He bursts in again, sword on his shoulder, only this time he is clean and changed and calmed. "Still going on with that story, are you?"

Yes I am, Kuro-tan. Is there something wrong with that? I see you've refreshed yourself from your exercises.

He looks out at all of you and snorts. "You're all a deal more serious than the last time I was in here—shrieking like a banshee. But, the thing is, you're all _still here_."

You stare at him, raising your eyebrows, not intimidated at all. Kuro-chan scowls. "Could you all…you know…leave?"

Now, Kuro-sama, that isn't polite. What would Tomoyo-chan do if she heard the manner you were addressing these young ladi—

And he's kissing me, one hand in my hair, the other tipping my chin up. His tongue's in my mouth and his hand drifts to my throat and my face is heating and I can smell the saltiness of his skin and his fingers are probing down _there _and now—shit—they're in my robes and—

The screams assault us, as I try to push him away and somewhat succeed. He's smirking, not even irritated by the "fangirling", no matter how blatant it is. I'm attempting my best to shove the smile from my face and down my temperature. I swiftly gather my robes, deftly tying them, and rearranging my mussed hair.

I smile quietly at him. We may do this later. Right now, I'm entertaining guests, and I'm sure they have other things to do later on during the day so—

"So?" he growls. "I say now. And even though you might be all good and holy, I don't think your body is." He nods at the area between my legs, his eyes feasting on that spot. I blink. The screams erupt again.

Kuro-kun, there is something called chastity. I think you should learn the definition and start practicing it. It'd be healthy for you.

"I'm willing these girls here'll be way happier if you do things my way. It'll be a short break. They can get drinks or food or whatever girls do in their spare time." He kneels in front of me and his hands slip into my kimono again.

Wait. That isn't correct. His hands slip _up_ my kimono. Well, one of them does. The other moves to untie the sash.

Kuro-tan, stop it. I'm serious.

"So am I," he grins.

I sigh a little sigh of exasperation. If this was what you had in mind, you should've just carried me to our room. I don't want these young girls' parents hounding after me for defiling their daughters' minds.

"You should've said that first," he scoffs. Lightly, he tosses me—half-clothed—over his shoulder and heads casually down the hall. You all stare after me with wide eyes.

I wave my hand faintly. There'll just be a short intermission.

I'm sure Tomoyo-chan would love to chat with you, though. There's tea, too.


	9. Lecourt

_A/N: Pockysnightmare, you have your chance right in here to ask Fai-san your question. _

* * *

Chapter Eight: Lecourt

I resettle myself onto the cushion, my legs trembling slightly. My face is flushed and my hair far more than lightly windswept. All of you are giggling uncontrollably and I see that Tomoyo-chan has kept you entertained with engaging conversation that I dearly hope had nothing to do with Kuro-tan's and my…preoccupation.

I clear my throat awkwardly, and glance down to reassure that my robes are redone properly. Kuro-chan is rather impatient when he…er…

Going on.

The giggling is increasing and you start asking me what exactly happened. The questions get even more scandalous—more specific, asking for greater details. My eyebrows shoot up. I didn't even know young girls could speak of these…terms.

I shake my head with a grin. If I said anything at all, Kuro-chi would murder me. You all roll your eyes because you know he would do so as soon tear off his own head. Which, I must agree to.

My eyes widen a bit when one of you asks if there is a video camera in our room. I tip my head. A video camera? I might've heard of it during one of our more advanced worlds, but do enlighten me about what this entails.

You eagerly detail how it records visually and audibly, how it can replay and be edited—how it can copy one record into dozens. I cough again. Yes…I hope this video camera isn't breakable. If it's made of anything less than diamond, Kuro-tan will find some way to break it.

But we are getting out hand, aren't we? And this world is the one that leads to the story's first climax.

I had a slight suspicion what that feather book's abilities were…and part of me didn't want to say anything. It would just give Kurogane another chance to find out about my past, and he already had enough of me as it was—I was falling to pieces because of him, and they were so small and sharp that every time I tried to gather them I ended up pricking myself and breaking them further.

Another part of me wanted to use it to find out about Kurogane's past. Surely if he made such a big deal of mine, his would be something worth witnessing as well, no? And it was a childish idea of revenge. He had done all of this to me. Mangled me in ways no one ever had and he'd forced me to fall in love with him. In my world, in my eyes, that was criminal. A crime worthy of capital punishment.

No one had asked me if I wanted to fall this deeply—because when you fell, you couldn't return to the precipice. Not unless someone reigned you back in, and no one would ever want me to return. They'd shove me off and be done with it.

And that was nothing less than what I deserved.

But it was Kurogane who first picked it up, and Syaoran who first used it—however unwillingly. I could never ask what he saw of Kurogane's past. I resolved to myself that it wouldn't matter anyhow. Kurogane was the sort who wouldn't be held back by what had happened to him, and focused on everything and _only_ anything that was happening now.

Of course, afterward came another one of my mistakes—every time I made one, they escalated to a higher step. The largest one of all was yet to come.

I used magic. Simple as that. I used it and gave Kurogane _another_ reason to accuse me and give his enigmatic little statements and hate me and despise me and know that I was a coward and—

He already had more than one reason to do all of those, and I had to hand him another one. I kept giving them to him, and taking each blow in silence. I didn't retaliate because it was a useless war, and I would lose anyway. I could never win a war like this against someone like Kurogane. I was in love with him, yes, but I was not happy with him. Not at all.

Yes, I smiled and flitted around him and I kissed him, but my true feelings showed that one time we had sex. I was enraged with him.

My world was falling apart because of him. Not that it wasn't already in tatters, but he just made it worse. He accused me of saying that I didn't value anyone's life but my own and now I cared for Sakura and Syaoran and Mokona and how my smiles were false and oh, how he was so tired of my idiocy, and why couldn't I just quit it, and why couldn't I tell the truth and—

Stop.

Stop it.

Just. Stop. Please.

I couldn't do it anymore. I was losing and I was sick of it. Everything was going wrong because of him. I wasn't just losing this game—this war—I was losing myself. My lies were failing, my realness was seeping through the cracks, and the ravines in my heart were growing bigger and bigger and it was only a matter of time until I fell completely in.

I was falling. And when someone falls—they panic.

And my panic took the form of a serene smile. We were already being whisked away to the next world—for the first time, borne on my own magic. It'd never been easier to use it. I would be the last person in any world before I would admit that the reason my magic sang and twirled around us—joyously out of its cage—and transported us with smoothness that even Ashura couldn't teach me…was because it was near Kurogane.

I couldn't do this. I needed to end it.

Soon.


	10. Ladies, I Do So Apologize For This

Chapter Nine: Acid Tok--

Intermission (Again)

Acid Tokyo. This world was a disaster from the minute we landed to the second we escaped it. Every thing that happened in this world was nothing short of devastatingly, despairingly—

"You know, I can hear you back here, mage. When you gave me half your lifespan, you gave me some of your sharpened sense, too," he calls out, his voice growing nearer.

Unlike me, he hasn't bothered to replace his clothes into any semblance of propriety. They are thrown on casually, and he looks disheveled and slightly amused. I sigh at him as he leans in the doorway. There are young ladies present. It'd be appreciated if you cleaned up just slightly so.

He snorts. "I just came 'round 'cause I couldn't stand your storytelling any more. You make me sound like I'm some sorta manipulative rapist."

I don't know about the manipulation part, Kuro-tan, but as for the rapist end—

A small explosion of giggles bursts from you. He glares and then walks up to me and kneels at my side, his arm resting casually on my lap. Dread grows onto me—dread for about an eighth of the feeling, the rest is excitement…and lust.

You all grin as though heaven's gates have opened before you. Some of you even have the gall to clap eagerly. I hear plenty of you whispering about what you want Kurogane to do to me and how. Dear Lord.

"I know you don't want to finish that sentence," he says casually, his fingers drumming up my thigh.

Kuro-chan, have you been drinking a little too much? You usually hold your liquor extremely well, but for today—

He raises his eyebrows and smirks. "You know I'm sober. If I was drunk—which I never am, and you know that, too—you wouldn't be able to stand tomorrow, and these girls would be passing out by the minute."

I try. I try so hard. And yet the smile still creeps onto my face. Really? Is that so? Care to give it a go? I need to finish this story—but its nearing lunch—so perhaps…

His lips are once again on mine, silencing me. I feel his hands slither into my kimono, and the sash feels looser and looser and now it's undone, and the shrieks are so loud I'm surprised the entire fleet of ninjas doesn't immediately come running and I'm attempting to stop him before we do it right here in front of you but he's stronger for the moment and—

Success. He frowns as I hold up a hand, halting him. That is one thing he'd never do—rush in when I tell him to stop. With one finger I can silence him and with an entire hand I can concern him. At first, for someone like me, it was disconcerting and guilt-inducing. Now? It's fun.

We've already had one…intermission, Kuro-rinta, do we really need another one? You just returned from training and then we did…that, aren't you rather tired?

His eyes immediately are solemn, and his hand—the metal had been covered with skin long ago—brushes against my face, pushing the tousled hair gently away. "Are _you_ tired?" Like always, with these sorts of questions, his tone is always so casual, so indifferent and aloof—but that's what makes it all the more sincere.

I quickly glance at you all from the corner of my eye. Oh my. Did one of you…did one of you just faint? There, in the third row? Is…are you okay, there? Oh. Okay. Just…calm down, now. Don't hurt yourself.

The rest of you don't even notice your fallen comrade. You're all far too busy "kya-ing" and "aww-ing" and in summary, "fangirling".

No, Kuro-pyon. I'm fine. And I would like to do this, too, but you see, I really should finish this—

"That settles it, then." His grinning mouth covers my own, and once again, I feel his fingers, his hands all over me. Touching and probing and stroking and untying all at once. The faux arm had given him extra dexterity, and…God…I must say…it's useful at times…

This time, it's getting so fast and furious and did someone turn the heat up in here?—that I'm afraid we won't make it to the room and finish right here in front of you all.

But Kurogane hoists me up just in time and our lips don't part, and my kimono is slipping off and I do think my sash is somewhere on the ground, and I hold my hand up blindly toward all of you—second intermission. Do something or whatever. Tomoyo-chan might be up for tea again. Just…disperse…and chat or….oh…_God_………Kuro…sama….


	11. Acid Tokyo

Chapter Nine: Acid Tokyo

Even I have an end to my patience, and Kuro-sama is really getting to the bottom of it. I sigh as I return to my place once again, this time, Kuro-pyon following directly behind me. The only way to finish this without another intermission is, apparently, to have him with me during the storytelling.

I reseat myself on the cushion, propping my legs up. Kurogane, however, does not take up a seat beside me…but clearly, he'd rather lie down.

With his head in my lap.

I sigh a greater sigh and smile down at him. His eyes are closed as if my scent lulls him to sleep. "Just go on. The faster this is over, the quicker—"

I cut him off before anything else can happen to make your already-wide grins widen even further. In fact, I don't think that's even possible—any wider and your faces would split in half. I smile exasperatedly and wheel my mind back to that fateful day when we landed in the post-apocalyptic version of the world we first began in.

I had no doubts that Kurogane would win the fight against Kamui. It wasn't so much faith as it was pure fact derived from even purer knowledge. Kurogane _couldn't_ lose. It was Kurogane. That was all the explanation needed. This person couldn't lose. It was impossible. He was indestructible—he had no weaknesses, no blind spots, because if he did, I would've found out about them and used them long ago. But he didn't. Which would explain perfectly well why he was killing me a little more each day.

"What's this bullshit about me being some terrorizing creep?" Kuro-tan growls. "I don't remember any of this utter crap happening. I did NOT 'kill you a little more each day'. Are you sure your memory isn't just—"

I let my eyes lid over slightly, my face becoming serious and infinitesimally sad. Kuro-rin…

His mouth immediately closes and I can tell that he's instantly contrite. This time, I can give all of you the smile that I'm purposely angling away so Kuro-chan doesn't see it. My hand carefully strokes his hair in unknown apology. He wouldn't know that I had anything to apologize for, but it never hurts. And besides, he does have such nice hair…

And of course I was right. Kurogane did not lose. Although the sensible part of me knew that had this fight continued, it would not be without injury to a fair amount of both of them. But Syaoran was hurt, and this world was new, and we had to try to stop them from going any further.

Following that was none other than the memory that started the end—I suppose you could say. He was so close. He was dissecting my weaknesses and all my hurts as heartlessly and with so much sadism…it was like I was a spider and he was a young boy, having no clue about what it was doing to me as he pulled out each of my spindly, fragile legs one by one. He didn't know any better, just as the boy hadn't. But that didn't eradicate the fact that he did it to me all the same, nor did it vanish the fact that it hurt me beyond repair.

Kuro-rin's eyes are open wide and glaring at me. I smile at him and take his remaining real hand and bring the fingers to my lips. You already know this. Why such a scary face?

He doesn't reply. He simply closes his eyes again and says, "Go on, mage. I wanna hear the rest of this."

There's a small feeling that tells me I might be in trouble, but otherwise I don't know why he's so serious. I've already told him everything there is to tell. None of this is new.

Anyhow.

That night in Tokyo, Kurogane pulled the last leg and burned it—tossed it into the fire and never looked back at it. Shortly after, he proceeded to throw my remains into the fire.

And this was precisely how.

I heard his footsteps drawing nearer; he was returning from having spoken with the "water guardians". Syaoran and Sakura were long asleep, but I hadn't moved from my crumpled position against the wall.

"They say that out there," he nods to the side, "is some sort of balcony only with a broken in ceiling. Their kids are too young to be there so apparently we can use it if we want—for the time we're staying here."

I didn't look away from my knees. Neither did I remove the hair that had fallen over my eyes. It was a useful veil to hide behind for times like these.

"Oy. Mage. You still in there?"

I didn't move an inch. I made no sound. I wanted to be dead.

There was a small rustle of fabric and I felt him kneel before me. I felt his hand move beneath my chin and his fingers tip my face up. I felt his other hand hesitantly sweep my bangs to the side. I felt my heart threatening to break into shatters the size of atoms. I felt Kurogane blow the last remnants of these shatters away.

"You okay?" His voice was as gruff and harsh as always—but it was softer, and there was something intricate in it…something that I couldn't quite understand.

"Yes. I'm fine, Kuro-chan. I was merely pondering the answer to your earlier question." I lifted my head with a beaming smile that would put all actors to shame.

What he said next ran me through with an ice-cold knife.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

My smile fell and I stared at him. My mouth wouldn't work and my lips would turn up. They were completely frozen, and I had no heart anymore. Kurogane had stolen it, and apparently, he was going to crush the bits into billionths of an atom. Then, he'd most likely drop the dust into a basin of that acid rain.

"Excuse me?" Perhaps…by some miraculous, wonderful chance…I'd heard him wrong. Just maybe.

"You heard me, mage. 'M Sorry."

And now he was _apologizing_. Why didn't he just kill me already?

I couldn't look at him. I refused to. But he didn't care. He tilted my face up all the way, and his face was only inches from my own. There was no customary frown…no usual scowl. There was only that sweet, sweet sadness—more intense than the blizzards in my homeland, but warmer than any fire.

Right then. Right there. I swore that I didn't care if Ashura found me. I didn't care if I didn't do as Fei Wang Reed wanted. I didn't care about anything. I would intervene and interrupt and kill anyone who dared to hurt Sakura or Syaoran or Mokona and especially Kurogane. I wouldn't live without him. He would die because I would protect him. This would be the one thing that was close to me and wouldn't get hurt. Kurogane was indestructible.

His fingers laced through mine and brought them to his lips. I thought I felt his tongue graze the skin, and maybe even his teeth. It was gentle and even and perfect. He leaned down further, keeping his hand around mine, and met lips with me. For once, I kissed him back.

The kiss could've lasted three seconds or three hours or three days. All I knew was that after it ended, he straightened and carefully pulled me up. Without speaking, without even knowing, we simply walked straight past the bed where Syaoran and Sakura and Mokona lay, and went outside into the cool—but dry—night air.

There were no lights, so the stars were able to watch as we took off our coats and set them draping on and over the acid-smoothed stones. Kurogane and I stood against the other and again did our lips meet. He guided us down until he was seated on the broadest slab of building and I was kneeling in his lap. His face was level with my throat and that was where his lips focused next. I leaned into his hair, breathing in the scent of slight blood from the fight, dust, acid rain, and the tiniest bit of paper—from our last world.

The spreading heat inside of me was slowly creeping its way out, burning every single cell surely and definitely. We surfaced and our breathing was shockingly even—and not because of ignorance, both of us knew what was about to take place. Neither of us was unwilling. Neither was afraid.

This was nothing like my previous first times with various nobles—kings and princes and princesses and queens and ladies and duchesses and knights and even some mages. All of those were in beautiful bedrooms with cascading gauze canopies and feather beds and blankets and pillows so soft your head always floated on them. And here we were. In a world after its end and beneath the stars, surrounded by rubble and dust and parts of broken buildings—flattened and rounded only by polluted rain.

Still. This was nothing like any of those times. All of those were short but somewhat sweet, fun and very fluffy and unreal. It was like stepping into a drama and having your say, doing whatever you wanted, partying recklessly, and then stepping back out and returning to daily life.

But this? This was scorching hot and smoldering. By the end, I would be reduced to a pile of ashes, and I wouldn't even mind. If it was Kurogane, he could have his way with me until I was broken physically, mentally, emotionally. Just plain broken. I still wouldn't care at all.

And it was much, much too real.

Because as our gazes lingered on each other for an eternity, and his hands slowly removed my clothing—first my necktie, pulling it away and letting it fall to the floor; unbuttoning my shirt and letting his hands canvass my torso, warming them with that fire; lifting me ever so to unbuckle and unzip my pants, leaving me only in my underwear—we knew only one thing and we vowed it to each other: _I'd rather die with you than live without. _

But after that small moment of utter solemnity—of choking gravity…it was unearthly and unforgettable. It was a pause, and then retake aim and resume fire.

Our lips met and our tongues warred. Both mouths went to a thousand different places at once, discovering and teasing, satisfying and hungering. One moment my tongue was drifting around his collarbone and the next my underwear was gone, I was stark naked, and his lips were tracing the inside of my thigh.

His clothes soon joined mine—discarded and forgotten on the ground. We must have been a pretty spectacle for the sky that night—the sky that had seen this world from its creation to its end and more. Now, we added to its recollections—the forbidden lovers, one pure and good and strong, and the other evil and conniving and weak. Dark and light. Hot and cold. Forbidden in many more ways than one.

The darkness wrapped around us—absorbed us and forgave the sins I committed, even if only for one night. To me, darkness was my only friend. It hid me when my mask no longer could, when I was too tired to keep up the pretense. And since Kurogane was darkness…wasn't that what he always did to me? Except he hid me only in exchange for breaking the mask off himself.

But when he was inside me, I couldn't even frame coherency. All I knew was him. He was all I wanted and all I ever cared about—all I ever loved. We were two of the same, yet in that same, completely different. Although I'd done the deed with women as well as men, none of them fit so perfectly as Kurogane and I did. It was as though we were made for each other, which was unfortunate for him. What deity would ever pair a soul like him with a black hole like me?

It was hundredfold more than last time. The pleasure was so high, it felt as though we'd never come down. I couldn't even think of leaving. What I wouldn't have given to simply remain where I was—to remain lying beside Kurogane, his arms around me, lips in my hair…and pretend that our love would survive.

* * *

All of your mouths are open. Your eyes are latched onto my face, and after five seconds there, switch to Kuro-tan's. They switch back and forth and back and forth, as if trying to find some sense of it. You try to squeal and shriek but you can't for some reason. Kuro-puu has straightened himself into a sitting position, and I'm leaning against him.

"Cat got your tongues?" he asks, an eyebrow pulled up. One of his arms is draped over my shoulder and down my chest.

You still cannot speak, but you nod robotically.

I smile and admonish Kuro-chi for teasing like that. "What?" he says. "They agreed so it doesn't matter. 'Sides. That was a pretty accurate description. You write that down or something?"

I have a fairly good memory. And I did some poetry back in Celes. Most of my self-invented spells had some sort of rhythm—it made it easier to memorize.

He shrugs. "You've always been damn scary smart. Doesn't surprise me." He looks out at you. "Apparently, though, it rendered them mute for another hour or so, so I suggest you get on with it before they start the screaming."

I laughed.

I didn't know why. That…act…it felt like…it felt like I'd just surrendered to him. Like he'd tricked me and won—won the battle, ended the war, and now he was ruling over me. He didn't act any differently, but he would. And soon. And for some reason, I couldn't find the incentive to want to fight back. But no one had been this kind to me without wanting something—a secret plan, a hidden plot. Something. I just had to figure out what.

But I didn't get to. When I saw Syaoran…even though it was a clone…and Kamui and the blood and the boy losing his mind…and his heart…

I had to stop it. I swore I would. And I swore in front of Kurogane. Kurogane himself had trained and looked after this clone—this Syaoran. I hadn't really done anything. A few pretty words here and there. I hadn't even done anything for Sakura. Just more pretty words. But they'd done so much for me without even knowing. And there love was purer than I myself would ever be. It didn't matter if their hearts were not their own.

It was no use of course. I knew that. I knew that from when I drew the first line of the primary rune. I knew that when I sensed the danger and the magic withdrawing and had dived into the water. I knew. But I tried anyway.

I wasn't scared. I'd known worse pain. And there was no pain in any of the worlds worse than losing someone when you had everything with them. Sakura was too sweet—to undefiled and unknowing—to face that kind of pain. I wouldn't ruin here. There weren't many in these worlds that could go through life without ever knowing such heartbreaking pain. Even though Sakura would have to face it soon…I wanted to stall it for as long as I could.

But that didn't decimate the pain in the least. The obscene squelching sound when his fingers gouged my eye out—the instant blackness and the awful feeling of the warm wetness dripping out of that piercing hole and down my face. It slipped into my mouth and I thought I'd gag before another darkness passed over me and covered all of my senses.

Sweet relief.

Death.

Unfortunately. No. Not quite. I awoke—who knew how many hours—later beneath a bright white light, panicking voices, and a softness beneath my heavy body. I felt disjoined…ripped from my body…I couldn't keep consciousness as it kept slipping and returning unevenly…

I knew it would be soon. I would die and the magic in the clone's eye would be gone and everything would be fine. But if I could…I wanted one last act of extreme selfishness.

I wanted to see Kurogane.

I wanted him to kiss me one last time. I wanted him to be the one holding my disgusting being as I died and left all of these worlds and joined the one I held hands with for nine months. The one I killed. My other half.

My twin.

But my pathetic attempts at consciousness were not altogether fruitless. I did hear what they were planning and concocting. And I couldn't allow it. I wouldn't allow them to go through with any of this insanity. But my weak voice was interrupted with a far stronger one. The voice I wanted to hear before my death…and I'd only succeeded in making him angry with me. His hand grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me upward. Our eyes met—his glaring, mine resigned—and everything that'd gone on between us. From the start of this journey to now…it all added up to this choice. His choice. My choice. This moment.

What would he do?

It was clear in my eye and I knew he could read it. _Save me and I'll hate you—I'll never forgive you. Let me die and I'll love you._

He saved me.

He gave me his blood and he waited with me through the agonizing pain that suddenly enveloped my every being—made me wish I were already dead, wish for sweet blackness. The fire was turning me inside out, scorching my flesh to black and searing through my veins—drying out my blood and replacing it with a need for another's.

It couldn't have lasted long, but it felt as though it was drawn out for eons—millenniums, eternity. His warm hands remained gentle on my back, and he allowed me to claw and scratch and pull at him—allowed me to put tears in his clothes and dig my fingernails into his skin.

This was it. This was the face-off, the battle that would decide the ultimate victor. And I was losing. I had no more diversionary tactics; I was cleaned out of strategies; I was empty of ammo. Nothing. Only with a miracle would I win at this point.

But as I collapsed and fell into a thankful pit of nothing—as I dreamed and drifted—I found that I had a tactic I never knew about. A strategy beyond my wildest dreams. It was the sword that would pierce through him and render him incapable of fighting back.

It was heartless and sadistic as he was and so it was perfect. I would use it, and then I would win. I would win and he would lose, and the madness would end.

But then, as I opened my eyes, slowly straightening—everything crystal clear and all pain gone from my body, all except an unbearable thirst—and said those three fateful words, "Good morning, Kurogane", the words that ruined it all…as I saw his defeated face…no regret in it whatsoever, but the sadness of a million worlds etched into those eyes…

How come the only triumph I felt was empty?


	12. Infinity

_A/N: Sorry I was gone for a few days. Well...actually, for most authors this would be fast updating, but I'm used to typing every day--God, i have no life...lol, kidding. I do...sort of...? Anyway, it's a pretty long chapter--ten pages on Word, when they're usually seven at longest for this story--so I hope that makes up for it. Oh, and as a random bit of nothingness...I JUST FOUND OUT I'M GETTING MY BRACES OFF NEXT WEEK!! And i have a Halloween party tomorrow, so we'll see if i can finish...well wait, the next world is Celes right? Never mind then. No way I'm going to rush that. It's going to be much too fun. Major KuroFai in that one. Anyway, I'll stop rambling so you can read the Great Tsubasa Depression. _

* * *

Chapter Ten: Infinity

If Tokyo was the war than Infinity must've been the post-war depression. The atmosphere was always stifling—like a choking collar buttoned to your chin; a collar made of hot-raking coals and cement.

"Damn right it was," Kuro-kun says. "Even the manjuu bun was serious—which is saying a hell of a lot, that is."

You all smile faintly, still reeling from the last world and probably are still replaying that scene over and over and over in your undeveloped minds….

Your parents will _murder_ me.

"I'll murder them first." He looks out at all of you. "Got a problem with that? No, right? Good."

Calm down, Kuro-pii. No one's murdering anyone.

Now. I've called myself an idiot and I've called myself a fool. But in Infinity, I surpassed both of those. I have to admit that during Infinity I was positively awful, horrible, terrible, cruel, stupid. In short, I was a complete bastard.

It was directly after our first battle—also our first win in what would be a sequence of many—that I first drank from Kurogane.

Now, of course, Yuuko-san—at Kuro-tan's request—had changed my vampirism back into my magic (No, I never regained my eye). It's nearly as strong as before my magic was cut in half, but not quite. I must say though, I do miss Kuro-chi's blood. He arches an eyebrow. I smile brightly and continue on.

I had just escorted Sakura to her room and was doing my best to ignore the boy and the dry aching in my throat and stomach—and partially in my chest, although that had nothing to do with my vampiric anorexia. But I was weak, and that couldn't be overlooked—my malnutrition would soon manifest into my abilities and I would be an easy target during the games. Sakura would lose confidence and that would result in Kurogane and…Sy…and Syaoran's strength lessening. And then they would die.

But I wouldn't drink. I couldn't.

Neither could I call Kurogane by anything except his real name. He was a grown man and a ninja and should be given the amount of respect he was due. The nicknames had been ridiculous from the start, anyway. I'd just fallen in deeper that way. I'd won and I couldn't take the victory back. He'd lost, after all. He had to comply.

Syaoran—"Syaoran"—was sitting quietly on the sofa, a cup of water in his hands. He was staring into it blankly, Mokona resting on his knee. "Fai…" it began. I smiled at it, and petted its ears, before walking past them and letting the smile drop.

He was in my room, of course. Waiting. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking at me indifferently. He held up his left arm, sort of offering it to me, and his eyes narrowed. I didn't pause. I simply continued to move my legs until I reached the bed.

"You need to drink." It wasn't an impassioned declaration or a confession or surrender or anything of that like. It was merely a statement—a truthful one at that. I didn't respond. I sat down on the bed, and propped up one leg, allowing the other to remain on the ground.

He stepped toward me. I just then noticed something glint in his hand and…was that…Sohi? He lifted the sword and brought it down casually on the inside of his wrist. There was a flash of red and then the blood was streaming around his arm and dripping onto the tiles. The darkness made the pooling of liquid seem more sinister. "If this is the only way I can get you to drink, I'll do it, mage."

I smiled and laughed emptily. "How did you know? You do think so much of yourself, don't you, Kurogane?" Every time he would try to retaliate, I'd shoot back with ten times the force. There was no reason for him to do this without waiting for something to happen—something from me. I'd had enough. I really had.

But that didn't mean that I didn't take the bait. I stood up and gingerly held his wrist in my hands, lowering my head and closing my eye. I wondered what it would taste like. Would it taste the same as before—whenever blood appeared in my mouth from injuries—or would it taste differently?

The latter turned out to be the correct one. It tasted _wonderful. _I didn't know whether it was only because of the near-starvation state I was in or if it would always taste this deliciously delectable to me. I wanted all of it. I wanted to drain him of it. It was warm and sweet and salty and tangy and every flavor I'd loved in my food all in one. I wanted to drink him dry of it.

And then something inside of me clicked. _Stop. Stop. Why won't I stop? I want to stop, why can't I? I'm scared. Kurogane, stop me. Stop me. I'm taking too much but I want to keep drinking but I have to stop and I can't why can't I oh no, Kuro-ta—_

I yanked my mouth away. The slip brought me to my senses. I would have to train myself with this. There was now no way at all that I would be able to stay away from that…temptation for long. It was too good—brilliant. The taste was forever etched into my mind.

His eyes were slightly hazy, but he appeared determined to look as if a disgustingly repulsive creature had not just been about to take all of his blood and kill him. He gazed at me steadily and stubbornly. I was still thirsty, but something won over the intense need—I simply licked my fingers and then turned away. "Please leave, Kurogane."

I didn't want to see his face. I wouldn't be able to watch the disappointment and disgust play through his features and continue to live. It'd be unbearable. I knew he had to regret saving me now. If only I could turn back time and tell him that—tell him that this choice would only bring him pain and burden him. Then, he would be able to have let me die. I wasn't able to tell him because I'd been too weak. I knew that he wished he could've taken back his choice as well.

I heard him say so softly it was almost a whisper, "'Night."

Once he was gone, and I'd closed the door, I collapsed onto my bed, stared at the ceiling and said, "I'm sorry. You never have to forgive me. Kuro-sama. You never should've saved me."

And the worst part was…I couldn't even hate him. I still loved him.

I couldn't even keep that part of the promise.

"Mage," he says, shaking his head, "You are one depressing storyteller." He gestures towards all of you with his head. "They're gonna need a hell of a lot more tissues for what's coming up next."

You all glare at him and grumble about how he's "ruining the mood". I look up at Kuro-tan and ask him if he's depressed, too. He snorts and hastily busies himself by pressing his nose and mouth into my hair. I raise an amused eyebrow.

The games continued. We were the pawns and Sakura was the queen. Her spirit, her confidence, it never wavered. Not when she was questioning herself about Syaoran—both of them—or when she saw how black everyone had turned and how hopeless the situation seemed. If only the same could be said about myself. I tried to absorb some of her drive, but I still ended with nothing. Yes, I fed from Kurogane regularly, but every single time I couldn't look at him. I could stare straight into his eyes before and during the feeding but never after. Afterward, I always told him to leave immediately—then, I'd lock the door and fall face first into my bed.

We talked. We talked about the games, about strategies, about our stalkers, about this world—about many things concerning the well-being of Syaoran and Sakura and Mokona. But never about each other. Never about the things that we really needed to discuss. I'd shove him away before he ever got a chance to bring them up.

And then one night, I was feeding from him again. We would win the next day's match, of course. I was used to this pattern. He'd come in with Sohi—or any other sharp object—slit his wrist and offer it to me. We might talk and we might not, but besides my mouth on his wrist, there was no contact.

I licked away the last traces of blood and straightened, carefully not meeting his eyes, as always. But he was quieter, and he'd been spending much more time with Syaoran than usual. I was curious as his footsteps neared the door. He was cleaning up, and I thought—just this once—it might be safe to meet his gaze.

I looked up and my heart combusted.

He was staring straight at me, and his expression was one I'd never seen on his face. It was…impossible. I didn't know…no one…Kurogane wasn't allowed to wear that expression. That was my expression. That was anyone's expression but his. He couldn't wear it. I would as soon skin his face off before I allowed him to look at anyone or anything like that.

His crimson eyes had somehow lost their fiery luster, and his mouth was set into a sigh. His hand loosely held Sohi and he was half-turned towards the door, seeming to be thinking if he should leave now or wait for my command.

He looked vulnerable, very destructible, very weak and very tired. Things Kurogane should never have been. Those were all me. I was vulnerable and destructible and weak and always tired. Kurogane wasn't. He was strong and sure, and indestructible and never worn or weak. I'd kept myself away from him for that purpose. To keep that burning flame alive. And…I'd only succeeded in doing the opposite by dousing it.

How was this _fair_? How was it fair to him that just because he'd had the terrible luck of falling in love—no, I doubted it was true love—with someone like me that his world was destroyed in one swooping move?

"Kuro…" My mouth began without my permission. His facial change was instant. A glimmer of hope shimmered in his eyes—briefly, but it was there. I caught it and savored it. Maybe it was just temporary. It didn't mean anything. He was never one to be like this for long. He'd soon forget about me and get on with things. Oh wait. He couldn't. I was his responsibility now, after all. Unless he decided to leave me and let me die…which he should.

"Kurogane," I forced it out. "Please leave."

His gaze now knew no more boundaries. He was past it all, and he was resigned—given up. He closed his eyes slowly…and then opened them. The steadiness was back…but it was different. It was uncaring now. Brisk. But there was an underlying emotion that couldn't completely hide. "Sorry," he said. "Later."

He left.

Sorry. Sorry for what? What was he sorry for? Sorry for saving you? Sorry for forcing you to live when you didn't want to? Sorry for giving you my blood, knowing that you would hate me for it? Sorry for saving someone as worthless as you are? Sorry that I ever did something like this? Sorry that I wasted my time even trying? Sorry for showing you that I would care past boundaries of sanity?

Sorry for loving you?

I went into Sakura's room after that. I snuck out of mine and padded quietly down the hall—carefully passing Syaoran's and Kurogane's rooms. I knew Mokona would most likely be with one of them. Even my little friend was less than pleased with me. Only Sakura understood. She knew what it was like…to push someone away to save them. To feel worthless because you couldn't save them. To feel like you had to save them, because that was the only way they'd ever love you—and you'd actually deserve it.

She wasn't asleep, as I closed the door behind myself softly. I did love her. It was in no way the same way I loved Kurogane. It…was more like she was a daughter. My childhood wasn't exactly filled with the kindness of adults…which made me look at every child in a different way. Especially Sakura. She was pure and sweet and soft…but she could be deathly determined when she wished to be.

Sakura sat on the edge of the bed, her expression thinking hard—I could almost hear the gears of her mind working. She glanced up at me, and the tiniest of smiles pulled up a corner of her mouth. Mechanically, I forced my mouth into a smile as well. "'Evening," I said.

She brushed her hand on the mattress, indicating for me to take a seat beside her. As I did so, she said, "Did you have dinner yet?"

I stared at my knees. "Of course I did."

"That's good." She sighed, clasping her hands in her lap and crossing her slender legs at the ankle. "We are going to win tomorrow."

"Are we?" I looked at her, smiling quietly.

She met my glance firmly. "We are." Then, in an undertone, "We have to." The voice she said this in was so small…so frail…it showed how she really was still just a young girl that had been devastatingly hurt.

We were two of the same. Kurogane, I loved; but Sakura, I could relate to. She never questioned anything I said. She never asked about my smiles, the way I laughed—how I never laughed any more. She gave her trust so willingly to everybody it was concerning. But it was a nice change against Kurogane. He never settled for anything less than what he thought he should be hearing.

Yes. This was good. Perhaps if I continued with this line of thought, I would be able to quell whatever I thought I felt for him. It would be so much easier if it were possible for me to hate him.

"I'm sorry," I said suddenly, placing my hand against the back of her head and stroking out the slightly tangled hair—baby fine.

"He still doesn't hate me, does he?" she asked quietly. "Even after how I'm treating him all the time. I can tell. I wish he would hate me. It would make it easier. Then, if he hated me, he'd be different from…from him. If he still looks at me with those eyes…if I'm still important to him even after I treat him like this…" her voice caught—hitching up a few notes. "Then they're the same…"

Her head was bowed and I knew she was trying not to show me the tears. I could see that her small hands had fisted into pale fists and she was grabbing the sheets. I gently guided her head into the corner of my chest—right beneath my shoulder. "Shh…" I murmured, resting my cheek against her head. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "I'm sorry."

_Her_ apologies escalated into crying, and that escalated into a slightly hysterical round of sobbing. She had every right to be this upset—this angry and frustrated. Sakura wasn't the type of person who would easily be able to change. And even if she were, no one would be all right after what'd happened to her. All I could do was be here for her—comfort her, stroke her hair when she cried, dry her eyes, whisper soothing nothings. I couldn't help her. But we could keep each other from becoming soulless beings.

Once she'd calmed, her large wet emeralds stared up at me, her mouth in a frown. "I should have noticed. I'm so selfish."

I smiled. "Never, my princess."

"Something happened between you and Kurogane-san, right, Fai-san? That's why you're upset. That's why you're smiling more than usual." She took one of my hands in both of hers.

The smile latched stuck onto my face. "Why would you think that?"

She let go. "You don't have to tell me. But I wish he'd stop hurting you like this." Her eyes were painfully sad—something I'd sworn (no matter how untrustworthy all of my vows were) I would never make her.

I laughed an eerie little chuckle. "Hurt me?" I smiled, looking vaguely into my lap. "I'm the one doing the hurting. Every single time…all the time…" My next laugh turned into the beginnings of a sob, and I covered my remaining eye with my fingers. "Always…and he never…"

She smiled sadly. "You, too. But it's different…"

"I do wish he'd hate me, too." I snorted, closing my eyes. "But yes, for different reasons." I didn't finish that sentence. She knew me too well to have to ask—"_that I can't tell you". _And she loved me enough not to ask. It made me wonder sometimes. Kurogane asked—he interfered and intervened much too much. Did that mean that he didn't love me?

Why had I ever thought he'd ever loved me? No one should. The thing was, I never _ever_ had to ask _why_ someone would love me. That was too obvious. I wasn't arrogant, but I knew what I was. I'd looked in too many mirrors—I'd contemplated and had been complimented and praised too many times.

I was beautiful. I knew that. I was angelic, and brilliant, and feminine, and I floated when I walked. My mind was razor sharp, and I was the archangel of death—of destruction. I was magical and transcendent and ethereal. I didn't flirt—I seduced. I made women bat their eyelashes at me; they envied my hair, my skin, my eyes. They'd fawn and flirt and giggle when I glanced even once at them. Men's heads automatically turned when I entered a room. They smiled when I did—unknowing of the lies. I easily spun them a tale, and they'd invite me to come home with them. They'd desire me and I would give for a price.

I was perfect.

In appearance.

I knew _why_ someone would love me. It was simple and at times even fun to make someone love you. To make them fall for you—to lead them around by a little leash and make them pant after you. But it was near impossible for anyone to continue loving you.

Continue to love me after they found that my beauty was only inborn. That I was a devil with angel's wings, that I was only sadistic not brilliant, that my femininity could be turned deadly, and the only reason I floated was because of my disgusting magic. My mind was razor sharp and ice cold—it'd been used and manipulated until it manipulated others to keep sane. I was the archangel that would've been banished with Lucifer. My magic harmed, my transcendence and ethereality were superficial. Once women saw that my passionate seductions were done after the first night they left. When men found that I was far smarter than they were and therefore, not an option for a plaything they wanted when their wives were not around, they acted as if they'd never met me.

Only Ashura had ever loved me past what I first appeared as. But then again, he'd raised me. He never saw my "first impression". He only ever saw me—and loved me for it.

Kurogane…he'd seen what I first appeared like. He'd seen me seducing men and women alike for information…he'd seen me in battle…he'd seen me when I gave up, when I was sad, angry, happy, lying. He'd seen me in all of it. He'd seen everything but my past. Everything he saw was everything there was. He knew that I could be happily lying one second, and morosely telling the hidden truth the next. In one moment I would be massacring our enemies, and the next he'd have to save me. I would be cheerily teaching Sakura a recipe, and then I'd be going off on my own.

He knew me scarily well. He knew how my faults outnumbered my features by more than half—much more. And yet…

Could he _still_ love me?

As if answering the unspoken question, Sakura placed her hand over mine, fingers curling strongly over mine. She looked up into my face with her mouth set. "It doesn't matter what reasons. Just because I have to treat Syaoran like this…you can't this to Kurogane."

"He saved me when I—"

She interrupted my pathetic excuse, "Because he didn't want to lose you. It's what you do when you love someone. You do things that they might hate you for…even if they hurt you…even if they don't even care about you anymore…" She finished in a tiny voice, "because you're terrified of what it might be like to live without them."

I used my sleeve to carefully wipe away the little drops of saltwater that had rolled down her cheek. "I'm sorry to make you say that. Thank you."

"I do agree that it was selfish of Kurogane-san to do that, though," she went on, wiping her wet face with her own hands. "But what I'm doing is selfish, too."

"Not at all," I lied. "You have good reason for doing so."

"Thank you, Fai-san." She sighed again; we were both staring at random directions. Pondering. "You should go back now. I don't want you to be too tired to fight tomorrow. We have to win."

My smile then dropped utterly, and I took her hand against my lips, and murmured, "We do, my princess."

I place my hand beneath my chin and tilt my head to the side. It's gotten extremely quiet in here, hasn't it, Kuro-pyon? "Hell right it has," he says. "Goddamn, it isn't that depressing. Though the next thing that happens is fucking freaky."

I'm sprawled over Kuro-tan's legs now, and I smile up at him. It's somewhat of a sad smile. Only freaky? I think it's positively tragic and abhorrent. The abhorrence being on my part, of course. He scowls. "Don't let me hear you say anything like that again, mage."

Some of you are still staring open-mouthed. It's better if you close them, really. You might get bugs in there. The rest of you had brought snacks from when the last intermission took place, but they're held loosely in your hands. A few had even accidentally spit some of it out.

"Tomoyo ain't gonna be happy 'bout this cleanup," Kuro-rinta remarks. "Shit. I don't care. I'll just tell Souma to do it."

I shake my head with an exasperated smile.

We won chess game after chess game. And then of course…it was _that_ game. Most of you probably don't know what it feels like when a curse is activated, as I dearly hope none of you would have any reason to.

If one was cursed, one didn't feel it every single minute of every hour of every day of their lives. It was something that was simply there—like breathing. And with breathing, you didn't notice much about it until you suddenly _couldn't_.

A curse was the same. I never felt anything until the split second it happened. And in that split second, I knew absolutely nothing except one single sole goal.

_Kill her._

My own mental voice would state the goal in my mind, and abruptly that was the only thing that had ever, ever did, and would ever matter. Sakura had to die and that was it. I couldn't see anyone or anything but her. And I knew no names, no faces, no memories of anything except for her. She had to die. I didn't know why or how, but she had to be disposed of. I did know when—now.

In relation to the breathing, once you were able to breathe after a period of time when you couldn't, you of course, immediately and instantly—and gratefully—began gasping and taking huge inhalations of much-needed air.

The minute a curse's objective was finished, everything else came flooding into your head simultaneously—you weren't given a chance to sort out what'd just happened. The fact that it was a sensory overload was reason enough to cause someone to have a panic attack. But that with the fact that I'd just _murdered Sakura _was more than enough to send me into a panic attack.

And yes. When I had a panic attack, everything within a twenty-mile radius was in danger—maybe even more when I was outraged. I couldn't think, I couldn't comprehend, I couldn't…anything. Only those three words remained in my mind: I killed Sakura. I killed her. I murdered her. She was gone. Dead. Once again, I'd brought misfortune. Once again.

My magic came pouring out—flooding out. It knew no boundaries when its master was upset. It destroyed to ease its master's pain—even when the master couldn't make sense himself. My magic was a dangerous being. Always wounding never healing.

I wasn't conscious of anything occurring around me. I was vaguely aware of someone screaming, some others shouting, crashes of wood and metal, and sparks of something else. But mainly, I was in my own closed off mental state. I could only see Sakura—everything we'd done together, everything we were to each other.

She was outside staring at the sky, and I'd tell her about the constellations. I was cooking in the café, and she'd ask me to teach her. We teased Kurogane. We embarrassed Syaoran. I held her when she cried, and she did the same for me. She told me about Syaoran, and she told me about Kurogane. We hugged Mokona. We spoke about how alike Syaoran and Kurogane were—how much we loved them.

And then those slender, young arms wrapped around me, and that sweet, soft voice murmured in my ear. My mind came back to my body with a heavy thud. Then she was gone.

My mind was blank, my body instinct. My hand lifted itself—the sword's bloody hilt still in my hand—and the blade leveled with my neck. But _that_ hand…another hand…his hand…wrapped around my wrist. "Don't hurt anyone else with that sword," he growled. "Yourself, included."

His face at first glance looked furious…but when I really looked…it was pained—sad. Syaoran's expression next filled my eye. The boy's pain was unmasked—both versions had always worn their hearts on their sleeves…vulnerable for the entire world to have a stab at. I couldn't be one of the ones to do that.

So of course, the only thing I'd ever been able to say was an apology, before conveniently blacking out like the weak coward I was.

I pretended to be unconscious for much longer than I really was. I pretended so I wouldn't have to open my eyes and walk down the halls with my companions betrayed gazes on me. I pretended so I wouldn't have to come back to Mokona's terrified and worried expression. I pretended so I could feel Kurogane's arms carry me even though he should've killed me instead.

And when I finally "woke", I'd erased every emotion on my face. Deceiving through my emotions had gone badly, showing true emotion just as wayward, the only thing left was no emotion at all. Surely that'd be a neutral compromise.

My mind was dead. My body tired. My heart with another. I was an empty shell and absolutely nothing could bring any care into me again. There was no point in anything. Sakura was gone, Syaoran…a complicated situation, Mokona must hate me, and Kurogane…Kurogane was out of the equation completely. I'd terrorized him enough.

There was only a hint of emotion that sparked involuntarily—completely involuntarily—when I heard that I nearly _killed_ Kurogane and Syaoran. And even if Mokona cut off the last statement, I knew how it would've ended. I wished it would have. I'd have gone to hell and that would've been that.

I only ever had one purpose for living. On the journey, I thought I might have gotten another. But apparently, that'd always proved impossible in the long run. For now, however temporarily, I had second purpose. To fix what I'd caused with Sakura.

And although I'd sworn to an emotionless state, there was just the tiniest pinprick of excitement and adrenaline when I heard the Dimensional Witch's words.

"Then go. To Celes."

I was going home.


	13. Celes

_A/N: I was going to make this really sad...but I don't think I did a very good job on it. It's hard to "get sad" when you're as happy as I've been lately. Well, not exactly happy...just...okay, if I told y'all the reason...you'd do either of these two things. You might go "awww..." or you might run from your computer/laptop to the nearest toilet and puke. _

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Celes

"Wait a sec," Kuro-tan says, finally making an actual effort to sit like a proper person. "The Witch said that the Princess believed you through all your fucking lies, and you said you liked it when she didn't question even though you…thing…me."

You all laugh and many of you start teasing him, asking him mockingly if he can't say the "L word". I smile, glancing at him and appeasing if his murderous glare was dangerous enough for me to tell you all to back away slightly. Yes, Kuro-sama, I did question if it meant you didn't _love_—he scowls when I emphasize to tease—me in comparison the Sakura's believing nature. But even though I appreciated that there was someone who wouldn't give me hell every time I said something suspicious—he snorts—I found later on that I liked it far more when someone truly made the backbreaking effort to remove the mask instead of accepting it.

I frown slightly. This is supposed to be part of the story. Well, in any case, at least it's told. Are you all right, Kuro-sama? You're looking awfully quiet now. And that's a bad thing, I've learned.

He shakes his head, looking almost thoughtful. "Go on, mage." My eyebrows move upward and I wonder what he's thinking of. It's not often that he's this quiet. Usually—more than usually—he'd be making all kinds of noise whenever something like this occurs. Hm.

It was a strange feeling—returning to Celes. It was stranger still that Kurogane and Syaoran were with me. I knew that returning here would ultimately result in my death one way or the other. "He" was awake, after all. I hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since Chi alerted me. Ashura. And Kurogane. In close proximity. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

But there was still something…comforting about the frigid wind that wrapped around me. Something in it whistled a welcome—welcome home. I was able to maintain no expression or emotion whatsoever up to now. I was past caring. It wasn't forced, anymore. The only thing that thudded inside of me was expectance and relief. It would be over for me very soon.

I could only hope that Kurogane and Syaoran would somehow survive Ashura. Unless I was too weak to…but I couldn't think like that.

But wasn't that why I spelled his hand? I wanted to leave Kurogane with something of myself before I might die. It was pathetic and childish, but I did so want to. Even though it'd be best if I let him move on—even if that was what I wanted to happen—I couldn't help but wish he'd think I was worth remembering.

But of course, like the despicable person I was, as soon as I was done thinking that, the moment I saw him—saw Ashura…heard him say those words, "Welcome back…Fai"….I fell all over again.

Even then, I saw the suspicion narrow Kurogane's eyes. And perhaps maybe even a bit of jealousy. But I put that down to wishful thinking. The worst part was yet to come. Ashura could've killed me. He could've killed them. He could've killed all of us. But he did something worse. Worse to such an extent that I couldn't describe it with words.

He showed them my past.

No. More importantly, he showed Kurogane my past. He blatantly exposed all of my sins out for Kurogane to see—to observe and pinpoint and use and accuse me of. It was like reliving a nightmare. Although the nightmare was yet to come. The real nightmare was seeing his body all over again—Fai's body. Seeing it and once again being reminded about the name that should've really been erased from the world. How my life wasn't my own until I brought back his.

I didn't look at Kurogane once. How could I? All I had to do was imagine his disgusted expression—the horror, the terror, the want to never see me again…

Now he'd seen everything of me. And there was no chance in the world that he'd ever love me now. Ashura would only ever love me. The best thing that could've ever happened to me was death with him. And I couldn't even have that.

But then the memories were over…and I was coming down in shatters…and Kurogane was drawing his sword. I wanted him to kill me swiftly. I wouldn't resist. But Ashura was there…and I'd sworn to protect this country down to the last citizen. And I wouldn't let someone who'd toyed me around destroy Ashura—Ashura, my father, my mentor, my brother, my king….

My lover.

That didn't mean I wanted to fight Kurogane. My hand trembled. I saw nothing but determination in his eyes, but the only thing in mine was one statement: _Don't make me do this; I don't want to hurt you. _

My gaze pleaded and begged and groveled. I couldn't do this. I. Could. Not. Do. This. It was impossible. It took all I had to simply call him by his fucking full name. And now I had to….fight him? _Fight him?_

Kill him?

I would do anything. I would have done anything to be given another choice. I wanted nothing more than to be able not to fight him. Anything at all. But there was a part of me that was…happy. Morbidly, sickly, happy. Happy that, if I had to die, it would be by Kurogane's hand. It was a sick thought, but it was the only one that kept me from breaking down completely.

I'd only ever had two people love me. One was dead, and other insane and mostly likely soon to also be dead. The third I thought I could save…the third…he…Kurogane…

I shake my head, swaying my bangs out of my eyes and smile. I do try to not let the past get to me…but it still gets hard sometimes. I turn my head. Even when I know that he ended up safe and alive. Kuro-tan sighs. "I knew I shouldn't have let this go on." His hand presses softly against column of my throat, sweeping up into the hair.

I'm fine, Kuro-sama. Truthfully, I am. His eyes are skeptical. I know far better than to smile brightly, so instead I let the true expression that was inside show. He looks satisfied now. The fangirling has returned, but now it sounds…sadder…quieter. I can go on, I say to him again softly.

He sighs. "Your funeral, mage."

I have to chuckle at that, and I revert my gaze back to you all.

And so fight him I did. Every blow that I struck to him—it felt like it struck me back in body, mind, and soul with twice the force, twice the lethality. Even if he didn't kill me, I would. That promise that we'd nonverbally sworn to each other—the one he'd tried to honor, and that I'd hated him for—I would keep it now. If he was going to die, then I'd die with him.

But at the same time…my mind was reeling from Ashura. Ashura. He was the one who'd raised me. The one I'd grown up with. The one I'd first loved. My first everything was of him. I existed to love Kurogane because Ashura had loved me first. I couldn't kill him. I knew that should I want to remain with Ashura, I should be able to kill Kurogane. And should I want to move on with Kurogane, I should be able to kill Ashura. But I couldn't. I couldn't kill either because I was cowardly and weak and selfish. Just like I'd been cowardly, weak, and selfish when that day so many years ago…I'd chosen myself before my twin.

I couldn't choose Kurogane. I couldn't choose Ashura.

I couldn't choose Fai.

I couldn't decide. I wanted all of them. I couldn't put one above the other. I couldn't fight for one against the others. I couldn't end my relationship with one to salvage another. I was weak. I was beyond spineless…I was me.

But somehow…I knew that Ashura knew…that even though he'd brought Sakura into it…brought Syaoran and Mokona into it…he knew that it was the blood gushing from the gaping hole in Kurogane's chest…the nightmare finally coming true…he knew that that was what made that little thing inside of me snap.

That'd been the key all along.

After that, my rage knew no boundaries. I would've killed everything in all of the worlds if it meant I could save Kurogane. If it meant I could avenge him. I knew I stood no chance against Ashura. I knew that with the best scenario, we'd both die together and Syaoran and Kurogane and Mokona and Sakura would all live and forget about me. And if they did remember me, I was willing to wager it would be as the man that nearly murdered them all—that nearly was the cause of their downfall.

Kuro-pipi's hand tightens in my hair.

I was hurting. My body was gaining weight…my reflexes were slowing…Ashura was only getting faster and faster. And then…as if to purposely make it worse…he said I was kind. I was kind and my kindness was what was bringing all this pain to me, he said. I could only refuse. It wasn't kindness—it was weakness.

His fingers dig into my scalp, and they've stopped stroking altogether.

No. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. NO. I was losing. I couldn't be losing. I couldn't lose. I had to win, if not go down with him. If I lost…Syaoran…Kurogane…Sakura…and Mokona…then they'd…I couldn't lose. My cowardice had gone on enough. It was high time that I sucked it up and did something useful—if anything, I wanted to go out of this world making a chance for one person to be happy. I knew that I most certainly wouldn't be loved before I died…making someone happy with my death would be my next wish…

Um, Kuro-tan, could you loosen your grip a bit? You're going to pull out a very large chunk of my hair…

And then there was blood. There was so, so, so much blood gushing out and a sword was through Ashura's chest and Kurogane was _alive_ and it was Sohi that was through my king's body and he said to pull it out and now he was falling and why was he….

"You shouldn't waste tears for someone like me."

No. No. Ashura…King…Ashura…no…indestructible…first…no…Fai…not…my fault? What…Sakura…why…Kuro…ga—

There was no time to waste on trauma. The world was closing in and we were still very much stuck in the damn place. My magic was nearly gone and I was dying. I was inches away from the eternal sleep that I so wanted and that I wanted now more than ever. In a few minutes—mere seconds, even—I could be with Ashura…and Fai. Fai, who'd wished so hard for his brother to be freed in the stead of his self…me…he'd wanted me to live. Why did it seem I was the only one who got to live? What had I ever done that he hadn't? Why me and not him?

But first, Kurogane and the children and Mokona had to be evacuated safely. No self-loathing, or self-pity until they were safe and gone. But it wasn't enough. My magic wasn't sufficient. My magic wasn't _e-fucking-nough. _

It was the second curse. And it was working brilliantly—unfortunately for us. But like the genius she was, the Dimensional Witch had even prepared for this messed up scene. Mokona's earring. Genius. Syaoran through it and—YES—they were saved. They were saved and Kurogane would live and—

Why wasn't he letting go of my wrist? Why was he still here? Why was he looking at me like that? What was he _doing_? "Go!" I breathed, my eyes closing as quickly as the world. Go. Please, just go. There were so many things I needed to say to you, but I couldn't. Just. Go.

His face was contorted with such an intricacy of emotions even I couldn't decipher them. He looked focused as I watched him mechanically raise his sword—determined, steady. Simultaneously, as if I knew what was happening, as the blade came down on this arm, my eyes widened with each passing millisecond.

And when the limb finally fell to the ground, blood streaming from his shoulder, and his hand yanked me up—I saw the intense pain and sadness in his eyes one final time before we were whisked away and he blacked out completely.


	14. Nihon

Chapter Twelve: Nihon

Three nights. Three days. That was how long he was out. My wounds had healed over in two-thirds of the time. Well, my physical ones, at least. The ones dealt to my heart would just have to heal with time…and wait until he was awake and strong enough to talk it out.

Three nights and days were a long time to contemplate. Which was mainly what I did for the entirety of that time. I comforted Syaoran, I eased Mokona's worry, and I thought to myself. I thought, and thought, and thought. And thought. And thought. And I did come up with an epiphany or two.

Just maybe…if someone like Kurogane…was that desperate…to give up an irreplaceable body part for me…just to keep me by his side…maybe I didn't bring as much misfortune as I thought I did…or maybe…dare I even think it…maybe even if I did bring misfortune…maybe he thought I was worth having anyway.

Maybe.

I couldn't be sure until I was able to ask him all of these queries personally. I wanted him to awaken, but at the same time…I didn't. I knew he'd be fine, even though when we'd first arrived in Nihon I was terrified. Terrified that I was going to lose yet another person and terrified that that would be the final, finishing blow to my heart. And then I was terrified that just as he'd reached his goal…his goal to go home…that he'd die. Not to say I wasn't terrified that he'd live and that he'd stay in Nihon and discontinue the journey with us.

But those three nights and days were also spent thinking about Ashura's last words to me. And Fai's choice. I supposed there never would be an exact, concrete answer to why I lived and they didn't. Nor would there ever be a perfectly logical explanation to why it was me rather than them, or why I was so worth saving. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was love. I didn't think anyone would know for sure. But I did know that it was time I stopped wallowing about why they had to die…and accepted that they died for me…and I must've been worth dying for.

It didn't mean I didn't think Fai was any less greater—he was that young and he'd been so resolved that his brother should have lived instead of him. And Ashura…the most brilliant king I'd ever known and would ever know…he didn't think that his last loyal subject should waste a single tear over his death…

One amazing boy. One brilliant man. And they'd both shed their lives for me.

I must be worth something at this point. Even more so…considering that another unbelievable man made an enormous sacrifice for me. A ninja needed both arms to fight…he'd be vulnerable if he didn't…I knew Kurogane wouldn't take lightly to relying on me for that much backup during fighting…and my vampire skills almost made up for my lack of magic…maybe…?

Would he be angry with me? Irritated yet again? Fed up that after all that I still was giving this much? What would he do when he found out? Would he hate me even if?

"_It's what you do when you love someone. You do things that they might hate you for…even if they hurt you…even if they don't even care about you anymore…"_

I smiled and stood up from the edge of the futon, walking calmly to the door of Syaoran's room. I knocked twice, quietly rapping the screen with my knuckles. "Yes?" the young voice answered nervously.

"Syaoran-kun, would it be all right if I borrowed Mokona for a short while?" I requested quietly.

His face appeared in place of the screen. "Sure." He held the plump white creature out to me, and it hopped eagerly into my hands, eyes sad.

"Is Fai okay?" it asked as I carried it back into my room.

I knew better than to lie any more. "Not quite, Moko-chan. But I will be after I have a little talk with Yuuko-san. Think you could do that for me?"

I closed the door behind me and Mokona emitted a happy squeak.

When I emerged, it wasn't the only one smiling contently.

Kuro-tan raises an eyebrow at you. "This is just a warnin', but you might want to take out those tissues y'had a while ago." He looked at me sternly, "It'll get a little wet in here."

They can handle it, I tell him lightly. They've handled the sight of you violating me, after all. My tone is slightly accusing. He scoffs, completely unabashed. "As if you didn't _like_ it, mage. I've never known a single moment when you're not horny as hell."

I blink and quickly turn back to the story.

"Would you like me to go first?" Tomoyo asked. She'd volunteered to take me to him, as she'd had a dream that very night that he would be awaking. I could now see even more clearly why Kurogane had been so attached to coming back to her.

"Thank you," my voice was barely audible, but I managed the tiniest of smiles. But as soon as she'd gone in, I leaned against the outside doorframe, attempting to calm my breathing. I closed my eyes and told myself that even if he regretted it now that the adrenaline had stopped pulsing, that I wouldn't treat him how I'd been treating him ever again. I wouldn't.

And the full name? In words that he himself would've used: Screw that.

I knew the saying about how eavesdroppers would always hear something they didn't want, but I listened through the thin paper screen…and every single thing Kurogane replied with to Tomoyo…only strengthened my resolve. And when Tomoyo summoned me inside…I knew exactly how to begin and what exactly Kurogane deserved more than anything.

After all, he _had_ hit me, hadn't he?

But as those words left my lips—as that name left my lips—there was nothing in the world more valuable than the final look on his face. The expression that said it all. No, it didn't erase the fear of the coming conversation I knew we had to have…but it did erase the fear that no matter what the truth of what he felt was…we'd die comrades at the least…and lovers at the most.

And including my twin, including Ashura…there was nothing else I'd ever wanted more. That said something for and in itself.

It took less than a minute for Tomoyo to smile at us and excuse herself, bowing her head as she left the room. The screen shut itself to a close and I took the seat the priestess had previously occupied. My right leg propped up, elbow resting against my knee…I carefully looked up to meet his gaze.

The grin had gone now, and he was observing me…scrutinizing me. It was a resigned smile—but an honest one—that stayed on my mouth. "You've been out for three days," I said. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much."

"They gave you numbing medicine?"

"S'pose so." His eyes flickered to the ground, and back to my face. "How 'bout your wounds? Doing all right?"

"They're fine. I heal fast."

"Hungry?" he asked. My mouth pulled up into a half-grin. I shook my head. It was so like him to be this blunt…he never had had a single awkward moment in his life, I'd bet.

"Hey," his fingers…his remaining fingers, I should say…trembled a bit…digging into the sheet, "I'm—"

"Don't say sorry," I said. "If you say sorry, I'll go ballistic."

"Then I'll just risk that. Sorry."

I was still watching how he had to fist his only hand to keep it from where it wanted to go. I smiled inwardly and reached over him to take it—he was still so much taller than me that I had to clamber over him, his breath against the top of my head. I remained sitting on his other side…beside the arm he had left. "You should be more honest," I guided his hand to my cheek. "Silly Kuro-tan, don't you know it's bad to keep things to yourself?"

"You should know."

"I should, shouldn't I?" I smiled sadly. His fingers caressed my face, brushing the hair back, and teasing out the piece of cloth that held the blond strands back. "Time for a cut, huh?"

He frowned. "I like it long."

"You saw what I looked like. You want it that long, Kuro-chi?"

"Not that long—that was freaking creepy. This length is fine."

I laughed softly. "My past in one word: creepy. I find that one of the best descriptions I've heard. Not that I've heard any…or at all in that matter. But I guess I'd rather have 'creepy' than you running and screaming…though you wouldn't be able to do much of either in your condition."

"I'm missing an arm, not a leg or a tongue, mage. And since when have I ever screamed?" His hand had returned to his side, and his eyes were burning holes into mine.

I sighed. "Why?"

He echoed my sigh and regarded me solemnly. "Why, huh? You have no idea how many damn times I asked that myself. But maybe dreaming for 'bout three fucking days has got me some answers." His hand touched my head gently, "I never could have any shitting clue what the hell was going on in here." The hand moved to my lips, fingers pressing carefully. "I knew I couldn't trust anything that came out of here." The hand moved to my eye patch. "I wanted like hell's fire to heal the wound here." And it finally came to rest over my chest…over my heart. "But…in the end, I had to settle for fixing the cracks in here."

He'd never have admitted it, but I could see in his expression how he wanted to add: _Sorry I couldn't do more. _

Was that his next goal? To make me burst into uncontrollable tears? He was doing a pretty excellent job if that were true.

I couldn't do anything but shake my head and laugh. That was all I could do. I just shook my head and laughed—my eye wet and starting to stream over. "I really don't deserve you, do I?" I said. I sounded like a drowning cat.

"I've had 'nough of this crap, mage," he growled, grabbing my chin and tilting it to look him in the eyes. "What's with this 'deserve and don't deserve' shit? 'Cause whatever it is, I'm missing out."

I stopped laughing, and I swiped violently at my eye. "I've lied to you. I've pushed you away. I've led you on. I've blamed my own faults on you. I've hated you. Or at least, tried to. What could I ever do or have ever done to deserve this?"

He scowled, his hand gentling and coming to a rest against my throat, the fingers warm and soothing. "What's 'this'?"

"This," I took his hand away from my throat, threading my fingers through his, "You."

He sighed. "Look. 'M not something to deserve—I'm not a goddamn reward. And there's nothing you can do to deserve anyone, I don't think. Nothin' at all. Only they can choose to give themselves to you. 'S all it is."

"Then why choose me? You don't have very good taste, do you? Choosing a castoff…something worthless and invaluable…thrown away…used…broken of all things."

"There ain't anything wrong with my taste," he said defensively. "And if you say any more about how you're worth nothing shit, _I'll_ go ballistic. If you want something to relate you to price it's this: Priceless. 'S all I got to say."

I smiled. "You're very skilled with flattery, aren't you, Kuro-rin?"

"I'm not one to spin stuff up for the heck of it."

"Never," I agreed. He grinned quickly, but then gravity took over his face. His fingers reached up to touch my mouth, tracing the lips over and over. I parted them…covering his fingertips with my lips, tracing the edges with my tongue. I could feel the blood pulsing through them…my fangs ached to pierce through the flesh…

But I resisted…although…he seemed to know what I was longing for. He always did. "Go ahead," he said. "If you're thirsty." I pulled his fingers from my mouth and looked at him steadily.

"Say, Kuro-sama," I began, "What does it feel like when I drink from you? You've never told me."

"Couldn't really do that when you didn't talk to me, could I?" he snorted. I might've been imagining it…but it looked like he was…blushing. I smiled. I had to know now.

"Tell me?"

He shrugged, scowling away. "Feels pretty damn good. I've read books on vampires 'fore. Says their saliva in a human releases the same endorphins as…as er…as—"

"As sex?" I finished sweetly.

He coughed. "Right. That."

I slid closer to him, and he raised an eyebrow. My hand moved to the side of his face and I tilted my head just the slightest bit. His heart was throbbing at the speed of light in my ears. He knew what was coming. And he wanted it. That made two of us.

It'd been months since our lips had touched. And it felt like eternity when they finally did. My body wasn't the only one that reacted immediately. I was surprised when my hands itched to move on him. I knew that we shouldn't do this when he was still healing. But I was more surprised when his arm remained on the back of my head firmly instead of moving as it usually would've.

He drew away, his eyes half closed and his breath coming out shortly. "Hey…" he said, his voice soft and rough, "That time…in the world with the acid rain…was it better than in Yama?"

Some of you manage to stop crying long enough to go "AWW!!" louder than I've never heard you before. You all stare at Kuro-tan who's determinedly looking away—splashes of red making way through his tan skin.

It's perfectly okay to have no words for this, I tell you all. It wasn't like I did any better at those words. Those words…perfection in sentence form…

I couldn't answer…I didn't know how to answer it. I could only ask another question as a reply, "Why would you…?" My voice was almost pleading. I needed to know how he could ever…want me…love me…why? I would go insane if I didn't know the reason. And if he gave any "because I just do" bullshit—great, now I was picking up on his terminology—I really would hit him again.

"I never regret anything in my life, mage," he said sternly. "You know that. And none of that's changed a single bit."

I still couldn't understand. "But…_why_?"

"You know, I think I've just about had all that I can take of this." He righted me and then pulled me by the front of the "kimono" robe that Tomoyo had told me to wear while in this world. "Listen up, mage, and listen good. Why the hell do you always ask me 'why'? Why what? Why do I want you? Maybe I want you 'cause you're the most damn fucking beautiful thing I've ever seen in my fucking life.

"Why do I always save you? Maybe it's 'cause I actually give a shit about you and no way in hell do I want to lose you. What else is there? Why don't I give a shit about your past? Maybe because those people were dipshits to have done that to a pair of kids for God's sakes.

"Why do I love you? Maybe because I just do. Maybe because you're a genius who gives the credit to anyone else. Maybe it's because you'd die just to let the clone live. Maybe it's 'cause you kept the Princess from closing in on herself…maybe it's 'cause even though you want to die, you'd live just for the kids. Maybe it's because even though everyone else gets the shit scared out of them when they see me, you're brave enough to come anyway. Maybe because you're wrong about how you're weak and the king was right. Maybe you are just too kind. Maybe it's just because I'm fucking scared to go on with life without you anymore."

His breathing had escalated and I couldn't breathe at all. Our faces were moments away from each other and I could see how true everything he'd just said was by his eyes. I just couldn't believe it, was all. But this was it. Everything. Every reason. He'd finally told me. I'd finally heard.

"Yes," I whispered. "That 'why'."

"All cleared up, then?" He released me, and his hand traced down my spine. The line between involuntary and otherwise was so blurred that I couldn't tell if the shudder was because of temperature…or…well…that.

I bowed my head once in affirmation. He furrowed one eyebrow. "But now I'm curious, mage…" God forbid "…I told you the whole of it…'sn't it only fair that you tell me your end?"

I smiled to myself. "Why would you need reassurance of that? You're different from me. A person could go on for eternity stating why anyone would fall in love with you. There aren't that many going for me."

"State 'em to kill time, then," he yawned. "I'll be stuck in bed for a while. Already have. Might as well do something to pass it."

I knew enough to see past his nonchalance. He really did want to know. That only served to broaden my smile. "You kept hammering through my masks when no one else even bothered to get past the smile," I said simply. "You kept coming back even though all I did was shove you ten paces back. You thought I was worth something—if anything at all."

"I don't 'think', mage. I know."

I leaned my cheek against my palm. "Hmm…you know, I really wouldn't have taken you for one to be this way. Really, never would've thought."

"You aren't the only one," he snorted. "But…shit happens. And this kinda shit ain't half bad." His hand was resting on my thigh. "If you're up for it…"

"Yama was fine," I said, the beginnings of a grin appearing on my face, "Tokyo was nice…but here we have a bed…and a room—"

"Well, no shit," he grinned along with me, his lips just a taste from my own. "I'm pretty good even with only one hand."

"I don't doubt it," I whispered, feeling my sash loosen and his fingers on my skin. I knew that whatever had happened in Tokyo was about to be multiplied hundredfold. There was no doubt now. No suspicion. We could give everything. Even if we lost each other…we'd still have the memories. Nothing. We could lose nothing. But we had everything.

And after that night—after our bodies had been sated—I knew from the look he gave me…trying out his new arm…that he didn't blame me. He wasn't angry. He knew that I knew exactly how much I was worth. Though he also knew that I regretted it took an arm for me to realize it. Even though I knew that he would have given more than that to make me see myself how he saw me.

And throughout our awaiting Sakura and Syaoran to emerge from that dream world…throughout my knowing what had to happen next for the following chapter to unfold…his eyes always trusted. And although we knew that the final battle was uprising…it didn't even matter.

We went on to Clow after Nihon, as you all might know. Where the story began, the story would end. Sakura and Syaoran…there story, I mean. Ours…I suppose ours really ended in the rain…when the Dimensional Witch took my vampirism in exchange for magic…when I gave half my lifespan to Kurogane…when my language was taken in place of understanding his…when we were sent back to his world…

You all complain indignantly about how you want to hear about the final battle. Some of you mutter about "exclusive plot detail". I laugh as Kuro-pii growls. I could most certainly tell you about how it went down. But I did say I'd only tell our epic journey. The final battle? Clow? Fei Wang Reed?

That, m'ladies, is another story.


End file.
